


Forget the Silent Nights

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Child Neglect, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Pining, Wedding Planning, Weddings, also not who you'd expect, it's implied/referenced but not explicit, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 44,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: For years afterward, everyone who lived at 404 E. Redwood referred to that Christmas asThe Christmas we stole a baby.Technically, that wasn’t the strict truth, as Evie had already been five years old by the time she came to stay in their crowded (but loving) home. And technically they didn’t steal her.Either way, the last Christmas with the seven of them in that broken old house on Redwood all together was probably one of the most memorable holidays each of them had, what with the wedding and the the snowstorm and the raccoons in their attic…And the baby they stole, of course.





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Gah! Welcome! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and good tidings of great joy and all that!
> 
> Here we have a fic that is very close to my heart, with a very large cast of characters... I'm so sorry. This is the issue with things based on true stories. Suddenly you find yourself writing about a house with a number of roommates so large that you have to buy extra stockings for the fireplace, and all the stockings you can find are for some reason horribly expensive and you JUST want all of your roommates to get to experience the best Christmas possible and fill their stockings with candy and oranges because for some reason that's a tradition for some of them...
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from the best Christmas song of all time [The Perfect Christmas Single by Scott Mills and his Pigs and Blankets.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIFdJsLRkRM) Come on. You need to listen to it. Experience the Christmas magic. 
> 
> Love to you all! Hopefully this will be a wild ride.

Harry Edward Styles met Louis William Tomlinson when he was three months old.

Louis had been two years old, and the way their moms told it, Louis took one look at Harry and decided that he was not worth any more of Louis’s time, wandering off to get into mischief somewhere else.

Harry, on the other hand, was hooked. As soon as he laid eyes on Louis, he watched him. For the next hour, more intently than Anne had seen him be on anything, Harry followed Louis with his eyes, until Louis got hungry and cranky and Jay took him home.

“And you’ve been following him ever since,” Anne remarked once, around the time when Harry announced that after graduating he was planning on moving in with Louis and his myriad of housemates.

On days like today, he uses that as an excuse. It’s just what Harry does. He seeks Louis out. He always has.

—

When Harry’s alarm goes off at 5:50 in the morning, he rushes to turn it off before it wakes Greg up. Not that Greg _would_ wake up - he sets twenty alarms five minutes apart every morning and is _still_ often late - but Harry still feels bad. Plus the walls are thin enough that Liam down the hall often also wakes up to Harry’s alarm. Poor Liam.

Oh. _6 a.m. December first._

Remembering _why_ he set an alarm for this ungodly hour of the morning, Harry sits up and sticks his feet into the fuzzy pink slippers on the floor. _It’s December 1st!_ He pockets his phone and headphones and turns off his heated blanket (the attic is always freezing and Greg’s bed blocks the heat vent). Making his way out the door (and accidentally slamming it maybe a little - sorry Liam), he tiptoes down a flight of stairs, to the middle floor. It’s dark and silent and a little spooky, but he doesn’t dare turn on the hall light. It’s just outside Louis and Niall’s bedroom, so he knows when he cracks open their door, the hallway light will shine directly on Niall’s face and wake him up. Harry is _not_ about to chance his wrath.

Instead, he turns the knob slowly and pushes the door inward even slower. The windows on the opposite wall are letting in a faint warm glow from the streetlights, but other than that the room is dark, motionless, still.

The floor directly in front of the door and leading to Niall’s bed is spotless and clean, his stuff all organized and color coordinated and displayed neatly, a product of being a graphic design student probably. There’s a stark contrast between where Niall’s side of the room ends and Louis’s begins, an almost literal line drawn across the floorboards where the floor is absolutely covered with _things._ Louis insists none of it is trash (arguable), but regardless once Harry is in, his challenge is always picking his way carefully across the floor to Louis’s bed without stubbing his toe on Louis’s Mordor paperweight, breaking something priceless like his glass-blown whales, or waking up both of them by tripping over Louis’s myriad of Discworld books and landing sprawled across Louis’s sleeping form.

Louis is _not_ happy when he’s woken up. Even his best friend in the world (Harry) will face his wrath. And has. It’s not pretty.

Still, it’s something that Harry’s good at. He’s gotten a lot of practice.

Tiptoeing through the mess that Louis assures is well-organized (“I know where everything is, Harry!”), he makes his way to Louis’s bed and gingerly sits on the edge, testing to see how asleep Louis is.

He’s no more than a pile of blankets gently rising and falling at this point, so Harry takes that as his queue that it’s safe to make himself at home. He retrieves his phone from his pocket and plugs in the headphones, opening the iPlayer app and tuning to BBC Radio 1.

 _“Yes hello and_ welcome _if you’re only just joining us,”_ the DJ’s voice comes through, almost jarringly loud in his ears even with his phone on the lowest volume. _“Now prepare yourselves everyone, the next three hours are about to be what many of us have been waiting the last eleven months for. The rest of you, who haven’t been counting down the days, might I suggest tuning to Radio 2 for the next few hours?”_

Oh good, Harry hasn’t missed any of it. He smiles so wide his face hurts and closes his eyes (they’re a little bleary still at this point in the morning anyway), and (carefully) stretches out like a cat across the edge of Louis’s bed. Louis shifts only a little, but doesn’t stir.

 _“Well we’re going to be starting with one of the classics, so I’m pleased to present the very first Christmas song of the holiday season (with the exception of what Scott did but we won’t talk about that), here’s_ All I Want For Christmas Is You _by Mariah Carey!”_

This is Harry’s tradition. It’s how he starts off the Christmas season. When Louis wakes up (probably around ten), Harry will share an earbud with him. If he asks politely.

—

Harry and Louis have known each other for approximately twenty years. They have been something akin to friends for about four years. But best friends? Well. That’s only been about a year and a half (and a _great_ year and a half it’s been).

Being best friends, as far as Harry is concerned, means cuddling at all available opportunities, being the first to be offered leftovers (before the rest of the housemates), and getting told all the embarrassing stories that happen that would be much too embarrassing to share with the house. Like that one time Louis spent a good ten minutes trying to pick up a pound piece from the pavement before realising it was actually a bottlecap and definitely embedded in the concrete.

Being best friends on December 1st means getting to help Louis set up his Christmas village.

The big Christmas decorating doesn’t get to happen until tomorrow, because Bebe is out of town visiting her family and it’s a _rule_ that everyone _must be here_ for tree decorating and lights. Partially this is because some members of the House (Harry) prefer to put up Christmas lights around every available space both inside and outside, which others deem _too bright_ and _tacky_ and _Harry how much did you even spend on lights?_ But mostly it’s because everyone has just a little fomo about it.

So, for today they’re just setting up Louis’s Christmas village. Just as soon as Liam leaves. Because there’s nothing Liam hates more than Louis’s Christmas village.

“It’s _not_ that I hate your Christmas village,” Liam argues as Louis brings his boxes up from the basement.

“We get it, Liam,” Louis says placatingly. “It’s that you hate Christmas.”

“I _don’t,”_ Liam says, sounding almost desperate. “It’s just that I don’t like, well-”

“Christmas,” Harry completes for him.

“No!”

“Admit it, Liam,” Louis says. “You’re a scrooge.”

Harry gets up from the couch he’s been laying on since coming downstairs around eleven, after five hours of satisfying Christmas music.

“You know what?” Liam says as Louis sets the box down on the table. “I’m going to go make crepes. And you two aren’t getting any.”

“Noooooo,” Harry pouts.

“I’m sorry,” Liam immediately relents. “That was mean. I take it back. You can have some.”

‘That’s the spirit,” Louis cheers. “You can help set up the Christmas village, then!”

Liam groans. “You’re both terrible and I’m putting blueberries in the crepes. That way they’re healthy.”

Harry giggles relentlessly as Liam leaves and Louis sits down next to Harry to unpack the two boxes of Christmas village.

The village traditionally goes on the clunky huge “entertainment centre” (otherwise known as the worst thing Louis has ever found in a dumpster and brought home), on the top level so that it’s displayed properly for everyone entering the house to see. It’s gaudy and tacky and Harry loves it.

“I got some new characters for it,” Louis tells him as he opens the first box. “A tardis and a Christmas camel this year.”

“What makes it a Christmas camel?” Harry asks, eyeing the two centimetre high camel figurine in Louis’s hand.

Louis shrugs. “It goes in a Christmas village, doesn’t it?”

“Makes sense.”

They unpack the boxes slowly and carefully, the tiny houses and tinier people and eclectic collection of pop culture pieces Louis has filtered in over the years. Harry asks for stories on all of them, even though he remembers a lot from doing this in the past.

“The giraffes are from a Noah’s ark set in Poundland.”

“That house I bought from when my family visited Bath because it was full of candies… It’s metal so it doesn’t quite fit but no one will notice, right?”

“The fat Santa is from when Lottie and I were kids. The skinny Santa is from a Kinder egg.”

Liam joins them with crepes before too long, eyeing the contents of the boxes spilled out across the table with a wary look. The smell eventually gets Niall to come downstairs, claiming a migraine that everyone knows is a hangover, and briefly they see Maya before she rushes out the door, a crepe in hand, on her way to work.

By the time the village is all carefully arranged across the top of the entertainment centre, Greg has only just emerged from his and Harry’s room, hair a mess and squinting.

“That looks like Christmas threw up at a Toys R Us,” he says, taking one look at their carefully constructed village.

Liam sighs.

“That’s right it does!” Louis crows, triumphant.

“I think it looks very nice,” Harry argues.

“It’s hideous, but you two always were suckers for anything with a bit of fake snow,” Greg says. “I smell blueberries.”

“There were crepes,” Liam points to the kitchen. “I saved you one. But don’t eat the one in the refrigerator! I’m taking that over to Zayn later.”

“One crepe is better than none!” Greg says, turning toward the kitchen. “Oh, do you have extra whipped cream?”

“In the refrigerator!”

“I don’t- oh, found it! Oh gross, is this the one you’re giving to Zayn? You _drew a heart on it with whipped cream?_ Liam you sap, you’re worse than Louis and Harry!”

Harry gulps, suddenly feeling exposed. Feeling the need to be busy, he gets out his phone. Has he been obvious again? Has Louis noticed?

Sure, if Louis hasn’t noticed by this point that Harry has been madly in love with him for years he’s not very likely to, but still.

Thankfully, his phone provides a real distraction when it dings almost as he pulls it out. A message from the house line -

 **Baby Bebe:** _I’m calling an emergency house meeting tomorrow. Sound off. I seriously need y’all there_

Harry frowns. He looks over at Louis, who is also reading the message.

 **Harry-bo:** _We’ll all be home for Christmas decorating anyway!_

 **Lew-is:** _Will be there_

 **Maya Pa-Jama:** _I’ll be home in the afternoon!_

 **Liam:** _I’ll be cleaning the house all day_

 **OhNoNiall:** _I’ll bring the wine_

 **GREGORYHELLO:** _Just wake me up when it’s time_

 **Baby Bebe:** _Thanks guys_

 **Liam:** _How serious is this_ _  
_ **Liam:** _Do I need to make biscuits_

 **Baby Bebe:** _Yes please. Very serious_

Harry bites his lip and leans against Louis’s side, the earlier conversation forgotten. Oh fuck. Stuff like this sure does stress him out.

Louis reaches an arm around him and Harry feels a warm glow on his cheeks when Louis pulls him more comfortably into his side. Yep. This helps the stress at least. This is good. He's happy with this. 

Now, time to rope Louis into binge watching Christmas movies to forget about whatever the emergency house meeting is until tomorrow. 


	2. December 2nd

Liam James Payne met Zayn Javadd Malik when he was seventeen years old, and just starting university. 

Their meeting had been nothing special, by any means. Liam had sat down at an orientation seminar almost an hour early, in the very front row because he had wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t get lost. The room filled up, little by little, until the instructor took to the podium. 

Ten minutes later Zayn walked in. 

The door had creaked open, just to the right of the stage, and Liam had tried his best not to look up from the notes he was taking. This was his first day of university and he was  _ not _ going to start off poorly.

He did, however, look up when whoever came through the door sat down in the seat directly next to him, the only other person to have taken a seat in the front row. 

Liam’s first thought was,  _ oh, he’s quite good looking. _

His second thought was,  _ why does he have a container of watermelon? _

Concentrating on the instructor became much harder after that.

Especially when the man next to him leaned toward him and held out a slice of watermelon. An offering. 

“Oh,” whispered Liam. “Um, no thank you.”

The man shrugged. He took a bite of the watermelon.

The seminar continued on. 

That’s just how Zayn was, really, and Liam couldn’t help being both charmed and confused from the very beginning.

— 

“It’s  _ not _ that I hate Christmas, Zayn,” Liam whines. “I just hate Christmas  _ villages. _ They’re hideous and terrible the worst part is some part of it is going to get broken and Louis is going to be so sad.”

Zayn gives Liam a sympathetic look, but as he currently is chewing on the collar of his shirt as he paints, he doesn’t say anything.

Also, his sympathetic look always looks a little odd when he chews his collar at the same time. 

“I just don’t like traditions,” Liam continues, the click of the knitting needles in his hands increasing to an almost fever pitch as he works himself up. “All this  _ tradition, _ all the time. It becomes, like, almost a ritual. Especially Louis and Harry. They become, like, Christmas cyclones.”

Zayn spits out his collar. “It’s because they’re in love,” he says. “Traditions feels more important when someone’s in love.”

Liam sighs. “I  _ guess,” _ he says. “Not that either of them will admit it. They’re terrible, Zayn.” 

Zayn looks unimpressed, as he often does. “Of course they are,” he says. He bites at the collar of his shirt again, effectively announcing that he has nothing else to say.

Liam loves Zayn, but he really needs to break that habit. All of his collars are weirdly stretched out after a few days.

Liam’s about to say something else on the matter, but his phone starts dinging. “Oh, that’s my alarm,” he says, switching it off. “I need to go home and preheat the oven for biscuits if I want to get them done before house meeting.” He stands up and stretches, looking at the plate with half a crepe still on the floor next to Zayn’s spread out canvas. “You  _ will _ eat that, won’t you? I don’t want you forgetting about dinner tonight either.”

Zayn nods. He puts his paintbrushes down and reaches one hand up to Liam.

Liam shakes the hand.

They both smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Liam says, sliding his feet into the boots by the door. “Text me to let me know you haven’t died of paint fumes, please.”

Zayn snorts and Liam counts that as a yes.

As he exits the flat and makes his way down the street, Liam counts ingredients in his head. It should be fine. He’s got a stock of frozen dough for times like this anyway. Harry and Maya will probably eat a lot, and Greg and Louis eat a fair amount. Niall will only eat one or two because he’s picky, and Bebe… Well, depending on what house meeting is about, she might or might not be hungry.

The wind whips around him and he pulls his coat closer, burying his face in the high collar. He’s not at all a fan of heavy coats, isn’t really a fan of many things touching his skin, especially not waistbands or belts. It’s a sensory thing. But coats he has to make an exception for, what with the temperature steadily dropping.

When he arrives in front of their home, he can tell they started decorating without him. That’s fine, he’s said a million times he’s not particularly interested in traditions. Still, he’s a little worried that without being there, he was the last force against the onslaught of Christmas that’s going to leave their house too full of Christmas trees to even move. 

And that’s not an exaggeration - in the big bay window that looks onto the porch he can see what has to be at least two, possibly three, trees going up.

When he opens the front door, he’s met with a wall of sound - Christmas music and voices and thumps of things moving about.

“Liam!” shouts Harry. “You’re here!”

“We waited for you,” says Maya. She has a wreath around her neck. “Well. We did start bringing things up from the basement. And also we thought we’d get them set up a bit. But we waited for you and Bebe for decorating!”

Liam looks around. There are three trees of varying sizes in the front window. Harry has a box of ornaments out, as does Louis. He walks a little further into the house, to the living room, and sees Greg and Niall working on a green and red paper chain.

“Hallo,” says Greg. “Would you like to help?”

“Greg’s only stapled himself once,” says Niall, sounding proud.

“You’re taping the paper chains together,” Liam says, pretty sure he knows what’s coming.

“Yeah,” says Greg. “I dropped the stapler when I stapled my finger. I think it’s broken. It wasn’t yours, was it?”

It was.

“Right,” says Liam. “Thank you guys, but I need to preheat the oven.”

He continues through the house, past the stairs and on into the kitchen. Its red countertops make the whole room feel both dated and fancy, and on most days the dishes are piled so high that no water can actually be run from the sink. 

It’s not  _ too _ bad today, but it still makes Liam’s skin crawl to look at.

So he doesn’t, instead turning the dial on the oven and then going over to the freezer to look for his biscuit dough. This means pulling over the stool so that he can stack frozen ready meals and bags of vegetables and pints of icecream on, because seven people living in one house should  _ really _ have two refrigerators but sometimes that’s just how life goes. 

He’s just located the bag of dough he’d set in the freezer about a month ago from movie night when the back door opens, and a gust of wind rushes in along with someone in the biggest, pinkest coat imaginable.

“Bebe!” Liam shouts, nearly toppling the pile of frozen things next to him. “Oh no! You’re not supposed to be home yet! I haven’t made biscuits! Go back outside!”

“It’s okay Liam,” Bebe says, shedding her puffy pink coat. “I appreciate it anyway.”

A crash filters in from the front of the house and a fair amount of yelling can be heard briefly over the dirge of  _ Fairy Tale of New York. _

“Honestly,” Liam says, turning to Bebe. “I  _ honestly _ am not sure I want to go back there.”

Bebe smiles, although she looks a bit tired. “I’m not sure I do either,” she says. “But I  _ also _ don’t want to miss out on tree decorating, and those  _ children _ we call housemates  _ will _ put everything up without us if we don’t get involved. 

This doesn’t sound like a horrible thing for Liam. “You go greet the masses,” he says. “I’ll be in after biscuits.”

Bebe nods and passes him by, heading past the stairs to the front living rooms. Liam can hear when she’s spotted by the chorus of

“Bebe!”

“You’re home!”

“We waited for you!”

“We only decorated  _ a little-” _

“We left some decorations for you!”

Liam smiles to himself as he shapes the biscuits on a baking tin. They’re terribly overwhelming, his roommates, but he does love them. Sometimes from a distance.

After running out of reasons to stay waiting in the kitchen, he makes his way back to the living room, where Greg and Bebe are hanging ornaments now, Maya is digging through boxes below the fireplace, and Niall and Louis are standing on the back of one of the couches trying to affix fairy lights to the back wall.

And Harry, dear Harry, is standing there staring at Louis.

Oh Harry.

“Biscuits come out of the oven in twenty minutes,” Liam says to the room at large. “So house meeting in twenty minutes!”

— 

Liam can’t pinpoint the exact time when he became honorary house mum, but it’s honestly probably always been this way. 

He’s made them turn off the Christmas music, and the living rooms are still a mess and the lights have begun to snake up the bannister, but the biscuits are out of the oven so it’s time for house meeting and that’s that.

He sets down the tray of biscuits on the coffee table - where they’re immediately swarmed by greedy hands - and sits down on the floor, as all the couches are taken. 

Greg sits on the brown couch with his feet up on the table and Maya lounges next to him with Niall sitting cross-legged on the far end. Harry and Louis sit taking up less than half the blue couch the way they’re scrunched together, with Bebe at the far end, looking regal as always.

Harry throws Liam an extra couch pillow and he moves it under his bum. Maya and Bebe won’t touch the “bum pillows” on the couches, they say they’re disgusting.

“Alright,” Liam says. “Emergency house meeting to order, Bebe you’re in charge.”

“Thanks Liam,” Bebe says. “I’m just going to get right down to it. I have a favour to ask everyone, and it’s a really big favour.”

The room sits in silence for a moment, before Niall pipes up. “Yeah, I mean we figured as much from the text.”

Louis snorts and Harry giggles.

“Yeah…” says Bebe. “So, does everyone remember the little girl I babysit, Evie?”

“Yeah, of course,” Maya says. There’s a general nodding of heads. Evie has come over a few times with Bebe as they go from one activity to the next on a day out. She’s almost five and adorable, as far as little kids go.

“Right,” says Bebe. “Well. How does everyone feel about her coming to live with us?”


	3. December 3rd

Louis William Tomlinson babysat Harry Edward Styles exactly one time - when Louis was ten and Harry was eight, and their mums were running to the store  _ for half an hour, just half an hour Louis _ because Lottie had spilled a gallon of milk all over the radiator, so the kitchen smelled like death  _ and _ they were out of milk.

Louis’s sisters, sans Lottie, had all been at childcare still, and would be picked up by Anne and Jay on the way back. So, with just Louis, Lottie and Harry in the house, Louis was proud to get to have the role of babysitter, even if it was for his mum’s best friend’s sort of weird kid.

Well. Harry wasn’t  _ weird. _ He was just  _ nosey. _

The babysitting had gone perfectly well for all of about five minutes, before Harry decided he wanted to go through Louis’s toys. Louis did not  _ want _ Harry to go through his toys. Louis’s toys were in his own room because he did not want  _ anyone  _ going through his toys. Everything that he owned was  _ his, _ and it all  _ meant _ something, from the toy he got in the McDonalds drive-through on the first day of school, to the Polly Pocket doll without an arm that he found on the street the day him and Lottie got to walk home together for the first time without their mum. Everything  _ meant _ something and Harry was going to  _ mess that up. _ What if he broke something? What if he lost something?

Louis said no.

Harry pouted. His face got stormy. He tried to go into Louis’s room anyway. 

The fight that was about to happen was interrupted by their mums getting home, and Harry tattling on Louis, and Anne giving him permission even though  _ Louis had said no, _ and so Harry happily went and rummaged through everything. After that Louis refused to speak to Harry for two weeks.

Sure, they weren’t even really friends, just two kids forced to hang out together because their mums were always together, but still. He held that day against Harry for a long time. 

The moral of this story is, Louis is rather worried about Evie coming to stay with them. 

“I couldn’t have said no,” he tells Harry. “I wouldn’t have wanted to, even! But she’s five, and she’s going to be touching all my stuff and that Christmas village is, like, done for. You know?”

Harry smiles in that reassuring way that he does. That’s one thing that Louis loves about him, that despite their difference in years, Harry is definitely just as, if not more, mature than Louis is.

“You don’t have to let her into your room,” Harry placates. They’re sitting together on the couch as  _ Miracle on 34th Street _ plays on the telly, and Harry is just eating shredded cheese out of the package like a bloody monster. “Plus, the Christmas village is too high for her to reach unless she tries to scale the entertainment centre. She was here for the weekend last month, I remember her not being particularly tall.”

“Most five year olds aren’t,” Louis muses. 

“Yeah, and that’s right! She was here for a whole weekend last month and none of your stuff was messed with then! I think you should be more worried about Greg getting into your stuff than Evie, honestly.”

Harry does have a point about Greg. He does love messing with things.

The thing about Evie is, Bebe’s been babysitting her practically since she was born. Everyone in the house knows her, because she’s stayed over before multiple times. This almost feels like it’ll just be another one of those weekend sleepovers for the kid.

Except it’s a lot more serious than that.

As Bebe explained to them yesterday, during a house meeting that felt so heavy and serious that Louis is pretty sure he’ll never forget it, Bebe told them all about how Evie’s mum, who had been young to say the least when Evie was born, and in no way prepared, had been spending longer and longer amounts of time away from her.

“She used to come back just a few hours late,” Bebe tells them. “And then after a while it was the next day, and I’d end up having her all night.”

This had been happening for years, and they had all known of it to some extent, but by the time Evie was three her mum would be gone for days, if not weeks, at a time. Most of Evie’s clothes were bought by Bebe because her mum didn’t seem to notice her growing out of things, and most of her toys (and  _ all _ of her books) came from Bebe or her parents.

Plus, Evie started to seem less and less happy when her mum came home. Bebe didn’t like that.

“There’s a law,” Bebe had told them. “That says that a child is legally abandoned if the parents haven’t had contact with them for ninety days. Evie’s been at my parents house for over two months now, and her mum hasn’t even come home in that time. My parents have gotten a lawyer and they’ve got some adoption documents drawn up, but her mum has just posted on facebook about coming home.” 

She had looked around the room with the most serious, solemn expression Louis had ever seen. “We’re not going to keep her mum from seeing her if she seeks her out, but we just want to make sure she doesn’t  _ accidentally  _ run into her, and reset that counter to zero. That being said,” and she scans the room. “What we want, to have her stay here for a few weeks, isn’t  _ strictly  _ legal. Which is why I’m asking, and I want you all to think about it very seriously.”

“Of course we’ll have her,” Liam had said immediately. “We’ll have to set up a rotation to watch her since you’ve got finals coming up.”

Liam’s quick response had shattered the heavy mood of the room, and the unanimous decision was fast. They were in this together. 

“I think you’re really worried that she won’t like you,” Harry says, poking Louis in the cheek.

“Well  _ yeah,”  _ Louis agrees. That’s absolutely the issue. “I’m bad enough with people my own age! I can barely talk to new people!”

“That’s called being shy,” Harry says. “And it’s adorable.”

“It’s  _ not, _ and shush.” Louis says. “What if she breaks something and then I get upset and then she cries and hates me forever?”

“Evie’s not here until tomorrow, we could practice. I’ll break something, and you have to not yell at me about it.”

“Don’t you dare,” Louis says, putting an arm out before Harry can get up. He’s probably joking, but still. 

“Well I, for one, am excited to co-parent a child with six other parents,” Harry declares. 

“The most parented child ever,” Louis agrees, just as a key is heard in the front door.

They turn to see the door bang inward and Greg struggle in, carrying a large cardboard box, and barely miss colliding with two of the Christmas trees.

“Oh shit,” Louis says, as he watches Greg, practically in slow motion, stagger away from the trees and straight into the lamp by the door.

_ “Oh shit,” _ Greg says, as a loud crash is heard, and suddenly he, the box, and many pieces of the lamp are all on the ground in the front room.

“Hello Greg!” Harry calls. “You alright?”

“Hello friends!” Greg calls from the ground. “I went to the secondhand shop and found a disassembled child bed! It’s got race car stickers on it and everything!”

“Does Evie even like race cars?” Louis asks, sceptical.

“Well she does now,” Greg says. “Oh, I did like that lamp. I’ll have to go back to the secondhand shop and see if they have any more.”

“See?” Harry whispers to Louis as Greg gets up. “He’s more of a threat to your Christmas village than  _ anything _ Evie could do.”

“I don’t like how true that is,” Louis replies. 

Well at least, twenty years later, Harry has definitely forgiven Louis for his moody childhood self. So worst comes to worst by the time Louis is forty he and Evie will definitely be cool.

“Oh no,” Greg calls from the front room. “I might have broken the screen door too.”


	4. December 4th

The day Zayn Javadd Malik decided he was in love with Liam James Payne, Liam had called him from campus asking if Zayn would please pick him up and also to please excuse him as he dies of mortification over the fact that he fell asleep on a bench after his final.

“Like a wild animal,” Liam had wailed. “I’m no better than a  _ squirrel.” _

As Zayn had hopped into his car and headed toward campus to pick up his poor, sleep deprived boyfriend, the story had come out. How Liam had pulled an all-nighter and a half in leading up to his soil science final, how he had watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy three times as he meticulously went through his notes, and how early that morning, he had stood up after a ten minute power nap and felt so downright drunk, his world in a haze from having slept so little, that in in his irrational, sleep deprived mind, he felt like his best option was to drink a glass of wine before class, because if he  _ feels _ drunk, he might as well have a reason for it.

“And then I went and took a  _ final,” _ Liam had moaned. “Zayn, I’m going to  _ fail.” _

“You’re not, babe,” Zayn had assured him over the phone, pulling up at the front of the agriculture building. 

Liam had gotten in, offered him a weak high five, and rambled briefly about what a terrible example he was being for Harry.

Then he had fallen asleep, and Zayn had looked over at his smushed cheek and the dark circles under his eyes and he had thought to himself,  _ I’m in love with this man. _

(A week later, Liam had sheepishly admitted to getting 102% on the test).

— 

“Zayn, she’s going to be here any second and this place is a  _ mess! _ This is no place for a child! There’s so many dishes and the stairs are so dusty and I’m pretty sure there’s a raccoon living in our attic-“

Zayn puts his phone on speaker and lays it on the floor next to his canvas, figuring he’ll let Liam tire himself out.

Sometimes Zayn wishes he lived with Liam at that house on Redwood, because he’d really rather like to live with his boyfriend, but then he remembers just how many roommates Liam has. And at times like this he’s pretty happy in his little one bedroom flat two blocks away that gives him enough space to work on his canvasses as well as a safe haven for Liam when he gets overwhelmed.

“Do you need to come over?” Zayn asks, interrupting Liam as he lists off yet more things that he deems “child hazards”.

Liam takes a breath. “No,” he says. “There’s too much to do. But thank you.”

“I’ll come over,” Zayn says. “I’ll bring you ice cream.”

“I love ice cream,” Liam says.

“I know,” Zayn says.

The canvas Zayn is working on can wait another day. He puts his paintbrush in water and stands, surveying his work. It’s a snowscape, a nighttime view of a country road in the heart of a snowstorm, a single lamp casting a yellow glow on the scene. It’s the fastest Zayn has ever worked on a piece, and it’s not even a piece for school.

He gets out his phone and snaps a quick picture, sending it to Maya. Generally he wouldn’t show the people who commissioned work from him anything but the final product, but he’s been friends with Maya ever since she moved in with Liam. Plus, this is for the backdrop of her wedding in a few weeks, so it is pretty important.

All his pieces for class sit, unfinished, against the wall. He chooses not to think about them. He  _ will  _ have to think about them. He has to finish them soon, because he has to pass his classes and graduate in the spring. Liam used to say that he wouldn’t ever marry someone without a degree, and Zayn… well, Zayn will do just about anything not to lose Liam.

— 

Knocking is sort of an unnecessary formality at the Redwood house, but Zayn still always does it. He knocks with one hand, the other one holding the bag of pints of ice cream (one for Liam and one for Liam tomorrow). After a second the door creaks inward and, knowing what’s about to happen, Zayn sticks his foot in the opening.

Because like always, Harry sees who it is and immediately tries to close the door again. 

“No fair,” Harry complains when he can’t close the door on Zayn.

“Hi Harry,” Zayn says.

This is something that Harry likes to do to all the boyfriends of roommates - close the door on them until their significant other realises they’re standing on the porch - but as Zayn is the only current boyfriend he’s had to put up with a lot of this lately. He’d take it a bit more personal if he didn’t see how Harry wore his heart on his sleeve. 

God, he’s a lovestruck fool and the whole world can see it. 

“Zayn!” Liam calls from inside the house. “Take off your shoes! We’re a shoes-free house now!”

Harry, who has relented on the door, makes a face. “We’re not,” he whispers to Zayn.

He’s still wearing shoes. 

Zayn, shoes still on his feet, comes in and briefly marvels at the state of the house. It’s about the cleanest he’s ever seen it, which may not really be saying much but it’s still pretty impressive. The floor looks like it’s been freshly mopped (although the place is so old and weathered that Zayn is pretty sure his socks would still instantly turn black if he were to take his shoes off), the glass doors of the DVD cabinet look like they’ve been sprayed with glass cleaner (sans the missing pane), and although the house looks exceptionally crowded from the three Christmas trees and paper chains and fairy lights and that terrible Christmas village above the entertainment centre, it’s void of the piles of textbooks and miscellaneous notebooks and dishes and the pile of single socks that used to occupy the fireplace.

Overall, a vast improvement. 

Making his way through the house, he passes Niall in the living room with his computer in his lap and a bowl of coffee on the table next to him. 

“Zayn!” Niall calls in greeting, turning his computer around to face Zayn. “Which one of these colours would you call teal?”

Zayn looks at the two colour swatches on the screen. “They’re the same colour,” he says.

Niall makes a face. “I thought you were an art major,” he says.

“There’s a reason I didn’t go for graphic design like you,” Zayn says.

“Christ, Niall says, picking up his bowl of coffee. “You’ve got a fucking point there, mate.”

Checking first in the kitchen (and grabbing a spoon for Liam), Zayn doesn’t find Liam until he ventures up to the second floor where he’s finally located scrubbing the grout off the tiny shower that can’t be more than a yard on every side. It’s frightfully small and very fitting for this house of maximum people.

“Oh thank goodness,” Liam says when he sees Zayn. “Here, can you clean the sink? Since I use the bath upstairs I’m not sure this place has  _ ever _ been cleaned.”

Zayn dutifully takes the spray that Liam is trying to hand him and then puts it on the floor next to him. “Ice cream, Liam,” he says.

“No time,” Liam says. “She’ll be here any second and this is  _ not _ an appropriate house for a child!”

“It won’t be by the time she gets here either,” Zayn says, tapping Liam’s shoulder with the pint. “That’s okay. She’ll survive.”

Liam still looks like he doesn’t want to put down the scrub brush.

“If you come downstairs and eat ice cream, I’ll give you a shoulder massage.” 

Liam looks up at him with wide eyes. “Yes please,” he whispers. 

Zayn knows how to get Liam to do things. Ice cream and massages are the answer to his heart. In sixth form, Liam had almost obsessively worked out, becoming the best boxer in his unit, but had overdone it and injured his back. There’s nothing Liam loves more than massages, especially when it’s cold, because that seems to affect his muscles even worse worse. Also letting him talk about soil. The best soil in the world is in Ohio in the States, Liam has told him on more than a few occasions. 

Zayn loves it because Liam isn’t good with a lot of physical touch, but he’s always up for a massage.

“Come on,” Zayn says. “Downstairs. Put the brush down.”

They settle on the couch across from Niall (deep in his teal work) and Harry (who’s scrolling his phone and looking sleepy). Liam’s only a few bites into his ice cream, though, when the front door opens. 

Bebe’s voice sounds from the front room. “And you remember my house! It’s a little fancy because we decorated for Christmas, do you like it?”

The stomping of little feet and the sound of the shedding of coats and then Zayn hears the voice that must belong to Evie, as she says. “Why are there so many stockings? Santa doesn’t visit  _ grown ups.” _


	5. December 5th

Niall James Horan met Maya Indea Jama when he had been out drinking at The Library (the bar by that name, not the actual library), and was more than a little inebriated.

He did not fall in love. 

In fact, he had just broken off a long commitment to the woman he had once thought would be the love of his life. But sometime things don’t work out, and this was one of those times. Which was why he was at The Library, on his second pitcher of beer, alone and not looking forward to returning to their shared flat. 

“Hello,” someone had said, and Niall had looked up to see a pretty woman with caramel skin and curly hair and happy eyes. “It’s just- you look like you’ve been drinking alone, and that does seem rather pathetic, so I was just wondering you’d like some company. My boyfriend is at the bar getting drinks right now, and we can pick you up something better than whatever shite it is they sell in pitchers anyway.”

And Niall, inebriated and lonely, had accepted (after clarifying that they were not trying to have a threesome with him, because that would  _ not _ be the best ending to his night).

So Maya had sat down and a few minutes later had introduced her boyfriend Stormzy.

“The name’s Michael,” he had said, holding out his fist for a fist bump.

“No it’s not,” Maya had interrupted. “It’s Stormzy. Everyone calls him that. If you call him Michael everyone will be confused.”

“Who is everyone?” Niall had asked, wondering if Maya had made friends with every drunk in the bar. 

“All my roommates,” Maya said. “They’re supposed to be on their way, but it’s always a toss-up on how many will show up. “Greg, Louis, Liam, Bebe… And Jade and Perrie, although they’re both moving out soon, and will be disallowed from roommate nights!”

She said this with such conviction. Niall giggled.

“I’m not a roommate,” Stormzy pointed out. “I’m still invited to roommate nights.”

“You’re an exception, you know that, babe,” Maya had said, patting him on the shoulder. 

“I’m moving out too,” Niall had muttered, not entirely sure whether he was addressing Maya or just talking to himself. It was a sad reminder. He had been happy for a moment.

“You are?” Maya had asked, and suddenly her eyes looked shrewd. “Where are you moving to?”

“Dunno,” Niall had said. “Just broke up with my roommate today, kinda have to move out now. Maybe I’ll live in the library.”

“Here?” Maya had asked. “It’s quite dingy.”

“No, the actual library. The one open twenty four hours.”

“Oh, don’t do that. Libraries are good but you shouldn’t spend too much time there. Too quiet.”

They had been interrupted by the door opening, letting in a fresh wave of sound as six people poured into the bar, giving it more life than it had had all night.

“Oh, there they are!” Maya said, getting up. “Listen. Don’t leave before you talk with me again. I think we can come to some sort of arrangement, as long as you don’t mind having a roommate or two.”

Now, three years later, Niall is happy that he picked Maya up on the offer, even if he does often feel like a fifth wheel in house hangouts. Or seventh. With Maya and Stormzy getting married, and Liam and Zayn together, and sure Harry and Louis aren’t  _ together _ but they sure aren’t  _ not _ together… 

Bebe and Greg can be his saviors. When things get too couple-y in the living room he seeks them out. No offense to anyone else. They’re just all disgustingly in love. And Niall isn’t.

— 

“Hey Niall.”

“Hrmmmph.”

“Niall, I need your opinion.”

Niall doesn’t open his eyes. “I have a migraine,” he says. “Leave me alone.”

“You were out drinking with Greg. You’re hungover. Open your eyes and tell me if this outfit goes together.”

Niall plots Louis’s downfall as he cracks open his eyes. “Is that my shirt?”

“I’m not legally allowed to answer that. Does it go with these jeans?”

“You look like a cover ad for a 90’s fashion catalog.”

“Perfect.”

“Now fuck you and stop talking, I need more sleep.”

“Don’t use language like that now!” He heard Louis squeak. “There’s  _ children _ here!”

“There’s  _ a child _ here, and I’m pretty sure she went to class with Bebe. Also, knowing Bebe, I don’t think I’m the one we have to worry about her learning words from.”

Louis leaves and Niall is met with blessed silence again, but it ends much too soon. From somewhere downstairs (sometimes Niall curses not having chosen to live in the attic) comes the screams of a child, almost siren-like, before they’re cut off. 

“Fuck my life,” Niall mutters.

He really does get migraines sometimes, and has to spend all day in bed with the lights off and silence playing in his ears. Louis is likely correct this time around, though, because he did have a fair amount to drink with Greg last night. 

Groaning internally with the knowledge that his alarm is probably about to go off anyway, Niall crawls out of bed and grabs clothes, making himself presentable to the world. He needs coffee, that should help… something. 

Donning his trusty sunglasses that he keeps by his bedside for days like this, Niall leaves the sanctity of his room and makes his way downstairs. There’s definitely people home, although he can never keep everyone’s schedules straight in his mind to know who’s home what time what days of the week. A house full of university students is confusing that way. 

Downstairs, he first turns to the kitchen in the hopes of brewing coffee as fast as possible. 

“Hangover?” Bebe asks him. She’s standing at the hob with spatula in hand, and what looks like cheese toasties in the pan. 

“Shush,” Niall says. “Migraine.”

“Sure, whatever you want to call it.”

Niall hates everyone.

He pours more coffee grounds than necessary into the coffee maker and flips the switch on before attempting to see the ruckus going on in the living room. He also considers waiting until the coffee is both brewed and digested, but his curiosity overcomes his desire for comfort. 

In the living room are Harry and Louis, clearly inseparable as always. They’re sitting on opposite sides of the blue couch, and Evie, whom Niall had met only briefly the night before, seems to be cowering behind Harry while also playing with his hair. Harry looks rather embarrassed, or at least uncomfortable with the situation.

“What’s going on in here, then?” Niall asks, flipping off the light as he enters the room. Why are there always so many  _ lights _ on?

“Well…” Harry hedges. Niall didn’t think there was anything  _ to _ hedge. 

“Evie doesn’t like me,” Louis states flatly. “Because I’m a  _ boy.” _

Niall, in an attempt not to laugh, screws up his face. “Is that so? So does Evie not like Harry either?”

“I like Harry,” Evie announces, pulling at Harry’s curls a little too roughly and causing him to wince. “Harry’s not a  _ boy.” _

“Well…” Harry hedges again.

“That’s a very deep and philosophical question you’re getting into there, Evie,” Niall says. 

“She’s being contrary,” Bebe says, coming in with a plate of toasties. “And we’ve talked about this. Just because Harry’s got long hair doesn’t make him a girl.”

“And anyway, does that mean you don’t like me either? Since I’m a boy?” Niall asks. 

Evie looks at him. She frowns. She studies him. “You’re okay,” she says. “You’ve got blond hair.”

Niall groans. He’s been growing that blond out for  _ months. _ It’s barely even  _ visible. _

“Come on Evie,” Bebe says, putting the toasties on the coffee table. “Apologise to Louis, you’re just being mean now.”

“I  _ won’t,” _ says Evie. “Because he’s a  _ boy _ and I  _ don’t like him.” _

Louis looks incredibly hurt. Harry clearly looks stricken on his behalf. Niall feels quite sorry for the both of them. The fairly lights strung up across the wall behind them bring a sort of cheerless Christmassiness to their misery.

“I think it’s time we all got Starbucks,” Niall says. “Yeah? Harry, Louis? Let’s get Starbucks.”

“You’re literally making coffee,” Bebe says. “I can hear it.”

“Don’t care,” Niall says. “I’m getting a venti and my migraine is going to magically disappear, and Harry and Louis you two are coming with me so that you can stare at Christmas lights or whatever it is you two like to do at Christmas.”

“I want to come!” Evie declares. She’s still got her hands in Harry’s hair, hasn’t touched her toasties.

“You’re staying here with me,” Bebe says. “You have to eat lunch and then Liam said he’d drive us to the park when he’s home from class.”

“Oh,” says Evie. “But I want to go with  _ Harry.” _

“Nope,” Niall says. His hangover is not handling Evie’s voice well at the moment. “You can go with Harry later. Come on, guys, I’m buying.”

“Well if you’re buying,” Louis says, although there isn’t the spark in his voice that there generally is at free food.

“If you don’t come eat this toastie, I’m going to eat it first,” Bebe says, pretending to take a bite of the toastie and earning a squeal of  _ nooooooo _ from Evie (oh, Niall’s precious head) and finally getting her to climb off of Harry.

“Quick, before I make you guys pay for your own coffee,” Niall says, finally getting Harry and Louis to follow him.

When they exit the house, there’s a light drizzle that Niall rather wishes was snow. Harry and Louis trail behind him, and Niall can tell that they’re already deep in conversation. He waits at his car for them to catch up.

“She’s just a kid,” Harry’s saying as they get into the car. 

“I know,” Louis says.

“She just wants attention,” Harry says.

“I know,” Louis says. “I have siblings. I just- haven’t had any of them say they hate me before.”

He looks devastated. The only other time Niall has seen him this wrecked was the week he moved in when he accidentally stepped on one of his Lord of the Rings figures. 

“You’ll fix it,” Niall says. “You can bribe her. Christmas is coming up. Buy her everything at Toys R Us.”

“Toys R Us doesn’t exist anymore,” Harry points out.

“You know what I mean,” Niall says. “She’s being dumb. I don’t know anything about kids but I know she doesn’t mean it. You just gotta bribe her.”

“I’m not going to  _ bribe her-” _

“I’ll bribe her,” Harry says. 

_ “No,” _ Louis is more emphatic this time. “I’ll just… get over it.”

Niall suffering through the blinding outdoor sunlight for these guys. “When you realise you’re not over it,” he says. “Bribery will still be an option.”


	6. December 6th

When Harry Edward Styles ran into Louis William Tomlinson in his first week of secondary school, he saw it as fate. 

While their mums were still best friends, and every Wednesday they went grocery shopping together, Harry and Louis had never gotten that close. They saw each other on odd occasions, but when Jay had remarried, the Tomlinsons had moved far enough away that Louis and Harry couldn’t walk home together any longer, and so most of the time they spent together was gone.

But now, seeing Louis on his first day of secondary school, Harry was sure this meant it was time for their friendship to blossom. 

It did not blossom. 

Harry, in his excitement, had trailed closely behind Louis at every chance; in the corridors, at lunch, wedging himself between Louis and his friends. Louis had not been prepared for this level of friendship thrust upon him. Some harsh words had been said within the first week, and Harry had backed off, licking his wounds like a kicked puppy.

It was a rocky start. Their friendship didn’t blossom, but a seed was planted. It was planted in rocky soil and watered erratically, but two years later when Louis graduated they  _ were _ finally at a point of casual friends. 

— 

Harry’s alarm wakes him up at six, like it does every weekday, since he’s specifically curated his class schedule to have as many morning classes as possible. 

He switches it off, and then lays in bed for a moment, getting his bearing and waking up properly. Unfortunately, the three or so minutes he takes to do this is apparently too long, because he hears the door across the hall squeak open and the sound of Liam’s footsteps as he heads downstairs, definitely about to claim the shower before Harry. 

(Liam swears he doesn’t do this on purpose, but Harry knows his alarm goes off half an hour before Harry’s, which definitely means Liam has already been awake, and it’s just as Harry’s alarm goes off that Liam chooses to get up).

(That being said, Liam takes the shortest showers in the world. Definitely under two minutes. His soil science classes have taught him to use as little water as possible so at least Harry’s always got hot showers). 

He ends up laying in bed a few more minutes, feeling the cold radiate in from the window next to his bed, staring at the moon outside that’s still high in the sky. 

Greg is still snoring peacefully, the room they share is small enough that the corners of their beds touch, and the sloping attic ceiling means Harry’s just thankful the head of his bed is at the taller end of the room. It’s tiny and it’s cold but the few times they’ve tried a space heater, it’s taken up the very center of the room and in the night one or both of them is bound to run into it and burn themselves.

That’s why Harry has a heated mattress pad. It’s probably the greatest invention in the world.

Having decided he’s put it off long enough, Harry reaches up and switches off his heated mattress pad and gets up, putting his feet in the fuzzy pink slippers next to his bed and making his way down a floor. There  _ is _ a loo in the attic as well, but the toilet hasn’t worked ever since Greg accidentally flushed his credit card down it, and the bath  _ does _ technically have a hose with a showerhead on the end, but there’s nowhere to attach it so whoever is unlucky enough to shower in there has to simply hold the hose over themselves the whole time. 

So, no one really uses the attic loo.

Sure enough, Liam is already out of the shower by the time he comes downstairs. Harry takes a quick shower before heading into what they’ve coined the Room of Requirement - because it contains everyone’s dressers and clothes, since no one likes to get dressed while the light is off because other roommates are sleeping. He throws on a red jumper and puts his special snowflake clip in his hair - because it’s  _ Christmas time _ \- and heads down to the ground floor.

Liam’s already got the coffeemaker running, gurgling and spitting out enough coffee for the three early risers - Liam, Bebe, and Harry. Harry thinks of Louis, asleep on the second floor, and considers putting some coffee aside for him later. Louis has no qualms about reheating coffee in the microwave and he could still use a bit of cheering up. 

In the winter the kitchen is the warmest room of the house, so Harry sits himself on the single kitchen stool to put on socks and shoes and to wait for the coffee to finish brewing. 

The fairy lights they’ve strung around the kitchen window cast a soft glow over the whole room, although the red countertops look a little eerie. The tiny Christmas tree in the corner of the counter space is dwarfed by a stack of dishes that definitely weren’t there when Harry went to bed yesterday (do seven people live in this house? Or seventy?). 

It’s soft enough lighting that he’s almost nodded off, jerking awake (and nearly falling off the stool) as Bebe comes in with Evie in her arms.

“Oh thank Christ, coffee,” Bebe says. 

“I want coffee,” Evie proclaims. She’s got a pink shirt on with a unicorn adorned with snowflakes.

“You’re too young for coffee,” Bebe says, expertly pouring the pot with one hand while the other still holds Evie. “You get milk.”

_ “Other  _ mom let me have coffee!”

“And she’s probably permanently stunted your growth,” Bebe says. “Plus, it tastes horrible. You can’t have liked it.”

“You’re not  _ supposed _ to like it,” Evie tells her. “It’s for grown ups.”

“And nothing for grown ups is supposed to be good,” Bebe says. “Of course. I forgot.”

Harry gets himself set up with coffee of his own while Bebe pours milk into a sippy cup for Evie. “Now go on,” she says. “You’ve already got cereal in the living room, go finish that up before we have to leave.”

She puts Evie down and Evie takes the sippy without complaint, heading back to the other room.

“Harry,” Bebe says. “Don’t ever have kids. They’re way too much work and then they try to drink your coffee.”

“Are you bringing her to class with you?” Harry asks, adding a large amount of creamer to his coffee.

“Yeah, I emailed my professors and at least the ones who have bothered to reply are cool with it.” Bebe shrugs. “I can’t just skip the last two weeks of class, although if there were ever a good excuse it would be this one.”

Liam comes in to pour himself coffee, looking more than half-asleep, and Harry grabs a couple of flapjacks to put in his bag for later, not feeling awake enough to expend energy on a real breakfast.

Realising that he’s left his bag in his room, Harry heaves a deep sigh and makes his way back up two flights of stairs. When he opens the door to his room, he finds that Greg is not in his own bed.

Greg is in Harry’s bed.

“Greg,” Harry says. “What the fuck.”

Greg rolls over and looks at him. “Your bed’s warm,” he says. “You heat it.”

Harry stares at him. “How long have you been doing this for?” He asks.

“Since it got cold,” Greg says. 

“So like… September.”

“Pretty much.”

Greg makes no effort to move.

“Right,” says Harry. He grabs his bag. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Greg says. He rolls back over. 

Harry heads back downstairs. This isn’t a battle he’s going to bother to fight.


	7. December 7th

Liam James Payne’s first date with Zayn Javadd Malik was one of the worst dates he’s ever been on, and it was all the fault of his roommates. 

They’d gone to a little noodle place with two floors of seating and the perfect not-overwhelming atmosphere. Sure, it was awkward, but it was a first date. All first dates are awkward.

But Zayn had been so kind and he was terribly good looking and Liam was all for getting to know him better. Zayn had gotten penne rosa and Liam had gotten buttered noodles and it had all been perfect until Zayn had glanced up, above Liam’s head, and then looked back down  _ very _ fast.

“Liam,” Zayn had said. “I have some bad news.”

Liam had frozen. Was the date that bad? Was Zayn ditching before he’d even finished his noodles?

“I think you’ve been followed.”

Oh no. That was a possibly even worse scenario.

“Are they up on the balcony?” Liam had asked.

Zayn nodded.

“How many of them are there?”

“Five.”

“Shit.”

Liam still remembers at how Zayn had blinked in surprise, probably having never heard Liam curse before, and then break out laughing.

“This isn’t  _ funny,” _ Liam said. “They  _ promised _ me they weren’t going to do anything!”

“They promised that they weren’t going to do anything to your date?” Zayn asked, lowering his voice so that those on the balcony couldn’t hear. “Was this something that they brought up or that you brought up?”

“I did,” Liam says. “I know them. This is what they do. They’re a bunch of meddlers.”

Liam remembers how Zayn’s eyes had softened. “You love them,” he said.

“That’s beside the point!” Liam argued. “They’re  _ meddling!  _ They promised me they wouldn’t!”

Five people. That was  _ every single one of his roommates. _ He was going to kill all of them. Feed them unethically sourced salmon and tuna full of mercury. 

“It’s sweet,” Zayn had argued. “I mean. I think it is. They are giggling a bit and I think they’re taking pictures.”

Liam turned around in his seat and stared up at the balcony with fire in his eyes.

Maya, Bebe, Greg, Niall, and Louis had all waved cheerfully back.

“What a coincidence!” Greg had called. “We didn’t know you were coming here for lunch!”

_ Bullshit, _ Liam had thought.

When they finished their increasingly awkward meal, Zayn had walked Liam to his car and Liam had gotten the distinct impression that a group of five had left not too long after.

They never straight-up admitted that they had been spying on Liam, but he knew. 

— 

Sitting in his soil science lecture at ten in the morning on Friday, Liam is trying his hardest to ignore the way his phone keeps lighting up.

_ Healthy pH levels, _ Liam wrote down.  _ Amount of nitrous in the soil directly affects- _

His phone lights up again. Another message. 

Inwardly groaning, he turns his phone over so that the screen is face down. 

He gets another line of notes written before he gives up, turns the phone over and unlocks it.

**Maya Pa-Jama:** _So… I just saw a raccoon scale the side of our house_

 **Harry-bo:** _Baby!!!! Is it Pinguin_

**GREGORYHELLO:** _ NO IT’S A RACCOON AND I JUST SAW IT AND ITS HELLA CUTE _

**OhNoNiall:** _ There’s no raccoons in England _

**Lou-is-Blou:** _ WRONG! Raccoons came from France! We do have some! _ **  
** **Lou-is-Blou:** _ #OhNoNiall _

**Harry-Bo:** _ Pinguin is the raccoon that lives in the bush outside our house. I bet it’s pinguin _

**Maya Pa-Jama:** _ I’m sorry we’ve had a raccoon living in our front garden this whole time? _

**Harry-Bo:** _ Who’s to say? _ _   
_ **Harry-Bo:** _ But also yes. Yes we have and he’s cute and I love him _

**Baby Bebe:** _ Harry if I find out you’ve been feeding this fucking raccoon I will skin you _

**Harry-Bo:** _ :( _ _   
_ **Harry-Bo:** _ I feed the neighborhood cats _ _   
_ **Harry-Bo:** _ Batcat and Thumbs _ _   
_ **Harry-Bo:** __ If Pinguin eats some of their food that’s none of my business

**Lou-is-Blou:** _ Yeah!! It’s not Harry’s fault, it’s Batcat and Thumbs’s fault _

**Baby Bebe:** _ …  _

**GREGORYHELLO:** _ I mean in Harry’s defense I also have been feeding the cats _

**Harry-Bo:** _ you have??????? _

**GREGORYHELLO:** _ Yeah, when i have leftover steak _

**Lou-is-Blou:** _ You spoil them _

**Harry-Bo:** _ !!!! THAT’S SO GREAT I BET THEY LOVE THAT _

**Baby Bebe:** _ If I find out any of these cats have been inside our house im moving out _

**Harry-Bo:** _ Leave Evie with us she loves Thumbs _

**Baby Bebe:** _ I s2g why do I live with you all _

**Liam:** _ Do you all REALLY have nothing better to do than blow up my phone while I’m in class _

**Lou-is-Blou:** _ Liam’s looking at his phone during class!! THAT’S BAD LIAM!! YOU’LL NEVER GRADUATE AT THIS RATE _

**Harry-Bo:** _ Sorry Liam :( _

**Maya Pa-Jama:** _ What do I do about the raccoon tho what if he’s in my room _

**GREGORYHELLO:** _ If he’s inside the house call me and find me some gloves _

**Baby Bebe:** _ I am legitimately scared about what that means _ _   
_ **Baby Bebe:** _ Also Evie and I are making Christmas cookies this afternoon so if anyone wants to join us you can feel free _

**Maya Pa-Jama:** _ I’m picking up my wedding dress from the shop and then Stormzy is coming over to watch Arthur Christmas. Is that okay? _

**Baby Bebe:** _ As long as he doesn’t mind a little girl that is very afraid of tall people. I think she’s mostly doing it for the attention. But there will be screaming. _

**Maya Pa-Jama:** _ Noted. I’ll warn him. _

Liam’s class is dismissed. He’s missed almost ten minutes of notes

— 

Zayn isn’t coming over tonight because, as he texted Liam earlier, he’s really in the zone on that piece for Maya’s wedding. 

That’s good, because it’s felt lately like Zayn hasn’t enjoyed any of the things he’s been working on, and that has made him more and more stressed out. Liam knows full well he’s not the poster child for a good work ethic, considering he pulls all-nighters at least once a week and does about twice the amount of work necessary for a decent grade. Still, he wishes he could help Zayn to be less stressed. He just has no idea how.

He shoots off a string of high five emojis and puts his phone on the charger. 

His homework and revision is all laid out across his bed in order of importance, but he can faintly hear the sound of movies and the screaming of a child from two floors below and it’s shattering his generally good concentration. Lord of The Rings has only been playing for forty five minutes when he decides to abandon ship for the night. 

Coming down the stairs he’s met with just as much of a wall of sound as he expected to from a house of seven and a child.

Maya and Stormzy are, in fact, in the living room watching Arthur Christmas (a movie Harry is obsessed with and has accidentally acquired three copies of). Along with them are, no surprise, Harry and Louis on the other couch. Harry looks to be half asleep, leaning against Louis’s shoulder as Louis absentmindedly plays with his hair. They’ve got complementary Christmas jumpers on; one in green and one in red with the same snowflake pattern.

God. The last time Liam mentioned anything to Louis about asking Harry out Louis hadn’t spoken to him for two days. But  _ come on. _

In the kitchen, Bebe, Evie, and Niall are making Christmas cookies - that only leaves Greg unaccounted for, but he generally works late weeknights so he’s rarely home at this time anyway. 

“I’m decorating each of these sugar cookies in pantone colors,” Niall says to Liam when he sees him. 

“I have no idea what that means,” Liam says truthfully.

“I need hundreds and thousands,” Evie says. She’s sitting on the red counter with a plate of cookies freshly iced in her lap. 

“We don’t have any,” Bebe says, which is a straight up lie, but Liam understands her train of thought.

“Oh,” says Evie. “Other mom does.”

Bebe rolls her eyes, although not in Evie’s line of sight. “How about I get you some new cookies and a fresh bag of icing?”

“Oh yeah,” Evie says. “Perfect! I want to make a snowman that looks like Niall.”

“Like me?” Niall asks, looking up. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Evie smiles incredibly wide. “You and Momma are the only ones with yellow hair so you’re the only ones I can do.”

Niall grins. “I’ll take it,” he says. 

Suddenly, Bebe swears and drops the plate she was holding, scattering the handful of cookies on it.  _ “Shit!” _

Liam looks around wildly, trying to figure out what scared her, until his eyes land on the window above the sink, where two glowing eyes stare in at them.

_ “Pinguin,” _ Niall breathes.

Pinguin, the raccoon, raps on the glass. Apparently finding it solid, he climbs upward, until all that’s left of him is his striped tail.

“Shit,” Evie says. “Momma said shit, so I’m allowed to!” She cackles. “Shit, shit shit!”

_ “Fuck,”  _ whispers Bebe, very  _ very _ quietly.


	8. December 8th

When Louis William Tomlinson got the text from Harry Edward Styles that he was looking for somewhere to live when he began attending university in the fall, and did Louis know any places open and cheap, he had felt a dizzying mix of excitement and trepidation.

Excitement, because he loved Harry. He hadn’t seen much of him since graduating sixth form two years before, but they had developed a good, solid friendship when they were in school together, and Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t find Harry, well, attractive. 

Trepidation because Louis hadn’t anywhere near forgiven himself for behaving like an arse to Harry.

It still jumps to the front and centre of his mind at the worst of times - yelling at him in the hallway and telling him to  _ stop following him, _ that they barely knew each other and  _ would he please back off? _

He still cringes, visibly, whenever that memory comes to mind. It’s been years upon years now, but the hurt he saw in Harry’s eyes was terrible. The fact that in the moment Louis didn’t see it as anything but justified was  _ even worse. _ He had been a kid, one with no empathy apparently, and had acted out and it had taken  _ weeks _ before he really looked back on that incident and realised just how mean he had been. 

He had resolved to make it up to Harry, slowly, carefully, and he did. But now, years on years later, wanting to tell Harry that they have an opening and he can move in whenever he wants, he’s still stopped by that fear. That he’ll do something horrible enough to see that look on Harry’s face again. 

It hadn’t stopped him from saying just that, but he was wracked with nerves afterward, and again when Harry moved in, walking on eggshells for a while even as Harry acted as loving as ever toward him. 

How was he to know that the first time he’d really upset Harry, he wouldn’t even be awake to know it?

— 

“We’re taking two cars!” Louis hears Bebe call up the stairs. 

“I should hope so!” Liam calls from somewhere else in the house. “There’s eight of us!”

“I have a minivan!” Greg calls.

“There’s literally a hole in the floor!”

“The heating doesn’t work!”

“Absolutely not!”

“You’re all no fun and  _ ruining  _ the spirit of  _ Christmas!” _ Greg calls back. 

Louis can’t drive. It’s at days like this that he’s perfectly happy to not drive.

“I’m riding with Harry!” he yells.

Harry is a terrible driver. Anyone riding with Harry is taking their life into their own hands. 

“I’m riding with Harry too!” Greg yells.

“Who said Harry was even  _ driving?” _ Maya yells. Where is Maya? Sounds like possibly the study room.

“I’m driving!” Harry yells. Harry is right next to Louis, lounging on Niall’s bed. 

“I’m driving too!” Bebe yells. “Because none of you have a child’s seat!”

“Yeah!” a smaller voice yells. 

“Grey hat?” Louis asks Harry, holding up the beanie. “Or reindeer hat?” He holds up the knitted brown hat, with a reindeer face on and knitted antlers and ears sticking up the top.

“Reindeer,” says Harry. “It’s classic.”

It really is. Louis loves his reindeer hat. He pulls it on and shakes his head so that the antlers wiggle a little. Harry laughs at him. It’s great.

The house congregates in the living room eventually, and like clockwork leave almost forty minutes later than they had planned. Louis sits in the front seat of Harry’s beat up old car (he couldn’t name the type if he wanted - not having a license had translated to knowing absolutely jack shit about cars) as Niall and Maya pile into the back.

“Christmas music!” Maya yells as soon as they start off. Harry makes a sharp right onto the main road that has Niall falling directly into Maya and then scrambling to put on his seatbelt. 

Harry makes a face. Louis knows what Harry wants to listen to. He’s been on a Hamilton binge lately. 

_ “One _ Hamilton song?” Harry pleads.

“Absolutely not,” Niall shoots down immediately. “I know you. If we start listening to one you’re going to try to sneak in more.”

He’s right, of course. That’s exactly what Harry does. And he’s very good at it.

Louis takes Harry’s phone from him and opens it to the Spotify app, bypassing the Hamilton soundtrack and hitting play on his Christmas playlist. 

God. Only Harry would have  _ Little Donkey _ on his Christmas playlist without actually having a kid. 

— 

They make it to the zoo with Bebe’s car following closely behind (mostly because Liam had called Louis’s phone ten minutes prior and asked  _ please _ to have Harry stop  _ weaving _ and  _ speeding _ because they don’t want to lose Harry’s car but would also rather not  _ die, _ thankyouverymuch).

As they pull up to the booth to pay for parking, Harry misjudges things a little. When they pull away from the parking booth, Harry’s side view mirror is dangling. 

“Bebe’s car is still right behind me,” Harry groans into his hands when he’s parked. “They’re all going to mock me forever.”

“Yes they are,” Louis says, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m never riding with you again,” Niall tells him honestly.

“I am!” Maya says. “This made for great snapchat stories!”

When they get out of the car, and Bebe, Liam, Evie and Greg get out of the other car, Harry hides his face in Louis’s shoulder. Louis tries very hard to keep from smiling as everyone gives exasperated looks in their direction laugh at Harry’s dangling mirror.

The zoo at Christmas is a necessary tradition that Harry makes sure they attend every year. Louis loves it, loves the Christmas lights that adorn every surface, the late hours that let them see the animals in a different environment than usual, and  _ especially _ loves the hot chocolate booths on every single corner.

“So we’re seeing the polar bears first, right?” Greg asks. They make a haphazardly large group, seven university age adults and one small child, and pose a risk of easy separation. Even without the child, generally someone gets lost. 

“Polar bears and then penguins,” Liam says. “Most Christmassy animals first.”

“Polar bears!” Evie yells excitedly, her face illuminated by the red Christmas lights decorating the fountain they’re walking by. She wiggles in Bebe’s arms. “I wanna walk! Wanna get there  _ first!” _

“Hold my hand,” Bebe commands, “or you’re getting picked up again.”

They set off in the direction of the North America exhibit where the polar bears reside. Most of the zoo guests are heading that direction too, so they’re immediately surrounded. Harry, as is his habit, sticks his hand in the pocket of Louis’s jacket so as to not lose him. 

They pass two hot chocolate booths before Louis just can’t take it anymore. His desire for chocolatey goodness is too strong. He slows down until Harry’s right next to him so that he can comfortably say, “I’m getting hot chocolate, meet you at the polar bears?”

Harry purses his lips and then nods, letting go of Louis’s pocket to fish a few notes out of his own. “Get me one?” he asks. 

Louis nods and separates himself from the pack, heading toward the booth. There’s quite a queue and he slides into the back of it. Everyone else in line is either in conversation, huddling together with whoever else they came with, or staring resolutely at their phone. Louis, who still has a flip phone because he just hasn’t gotten around to working out how smartphones work, takes his iPod Nano out of his pocket and mindlessly scrolls through his playlists. 

He’s second from the front of the queue when he hears it. A very familiar, high pitched voice coming from not too far to his right.

_ “Momma! Momma! Where’s my Momma!” _

Louis feels his stomach drop. He looks around desperately, immediately getting out of the queue. It takes him a moment to spot her, standing on the edge of a park bench to make herself taller. Evie, in her Christmas tutu and puffy coat, looking like she probably got distracted and wandered right off. Louis has a lot of experience with siblings doing that.

“Evie!” he yells, running over. Evie stops yelling, turning around to look at Louis. She looks angry. Furious at having been left behind.

“The boy!” she says, just as angrily, pointing a finger at him.

Louis takes just a moment to inwardly calm himself. “Louis,” he says. “I’m Louis.”

She looks at him for another minute, and then in the blink of an eye her anger melts away and her face crumples, lips downturned as fat tears leak from her cheeks. _“I was_ ** _lost,”_** she screeches, jumping from the bench into Louis’s arms. 

“It’s okay,” Louis says, thankful to have had just enough foresight to catch her. “You’re found now, so it’s okay, you see? But this is why we don’t let go of Momma’s hand.”

Evie nods but doesn’t let go of her now deathgrip on Louis. At least for a while, Louis thinks she’s going to keep an equally death grip on Bebe.

He shoots Bebe a text and fifteen minutes later, when they make it to the polar bear exhibit, Louis hands Harry his hot chocolate. Evie drinks from her own mini cup of it, and she doesn’t let go of the leg of Louis’s trousers for the rest of the night. 


	9. December 9th

The day Zayn Javadd Malik took Liam James Payne on a date for Liam’s birthday, he had thought of what he considered to be the most genius idea for a present.

The fact of the matter is, Zayn knew how much Liam loved watermelon. He had discovered that the first day they met, when Liam had eyed his watermelon slices so jealously in class. They had been on several dates that involved watermelon, because something about the task of buying a watermelon whole from the store, taking it home and slicing it seemed incredibly enticing to Liam.

Zayn also liked watermelon. He liked eating way too much of it in one sitting and spitting all the seeds into a jar and dumping them all in the garden like a ritual sacrifice. Nothing ever sprouted from them, but whoever was in charge of the greenery out front of his flat had probably had a lot of surprises if they ever tried to plant something. 

So for Liam’s birthday, the first year they had been dating, Zayn had thought of the best gift. 

“A watermelon!” Liam had said when presented with the large, green melon. It had a bow on it. 

“It has a bow on it,” Zayn had pointed out.

“Yes it does,” Liam had said. 

“Take off the bow,” Zayn had urged him.

They had been sitting in the park, the one out back of the library with the rose garden, on a picnic blanket that was really a tablecloth that Zayn had found at Poundland. It had been warm and sunny and nice and Liam had looked more excited than someone ought when being presented only with a piece of fruit for their birthday. 

Liam had slid off the bow (it came easily, watermelons being round and all). He had frowned. “Did you- did you cut something out of this?”

Zayn has grinned. He had stuck the collar of his shirt into his mouth. He had watched as Liam worked to pull out the rectangular slice that Zayn had carefully cut out, removed, and replaced the inside of. 

“What- what is happening.” Liam had said when he removed the piece of the rind. “Did you  _ put something in my watermelon, Zayn?” _

Zayn had chewed his collar and tried not to smile.

“Is this-” Liam pulled out the box inside the watermelon. “This is  _ Forrest Gump. _ You put a copy of  _ Forrest Gump _ inside my watermelon.”

“Happy birthday,” Zayn had said. 

“Zayn, you didn’t- you didn’t, like,  _ wrap _ the case of the DVD in anything. This  _ sticky.” _

Zayn quickly went back to chewing on his collar. He doesn’t have to answer if he has something in his mouth. Talking with your mouth full is impolite. 

“I love it,” Liam had added. “But also I’m not touching it anymore. It feels slimy.”

That copy of  _ Forrest Gump _ sits in Liam’s bedside table still, Zayn knows it does. The cover is dyed pink and all wrinkly but the disc works fine and that’s what counts, really.

They ended up giving half their watermelon to a homeless man on the walk back. He seemed to like it too.

— 

Zayn loves a lazy Sunday afternoon with Liam. 

He loves it, because a lazy Sunday afternoon with Liam is generally anything but lazy. 

It’s generally full of Liam freaking out about whatever he’s currently worried about, and telling Zayn all about it, and then deciding that the solution to all of his problems is to make lasagna. 

In making lasagna, he always asks Zayn to help him. Zayn loves this bit especially, because he really  _ really _ loves messing up lasagna. 

“No,” Liam says, turning around just in time to see Zayn dumping the entire pot of ricotta into the pan that they’ve been so carefully layering. “Oh god,  _ no Zayn stop-” _

Zayn grins. He grins very wide. He would giggle, if that’s how he did things. 

Liam sighs, world-weary. “Fine,” he says. “This is gonna be gross.”

“No it’s not,” Zayn disagrees. “It will be delicious.”

Liam gives him a look. He hands over the softened lasagna noodles to lay on top. 

“If it’s delicious you have to let me pick the movie,” Zayn offers. 

“We’re watching  _ Forrest Gump,” _ Liam pouts. “You promised!”

Zayn gently lays a lasagna noodle across Liam’s arm. 

— 

The lasagna is delicious, but it also doesn’t come out of the oven until halfway through the movie. 

Zayn and Liam are in the front room, not the living room with its two couches and entertainment centre with a real telly, but the front room with the third couch and the fireplace filled with shoes and the three Christmas trees and Liam’s macbook, perched on his knees. There’s no door between the two rooms, so while  _ Forrest Gump _ does play from his laptop, Zayn is perfectly able to  _ also _ follow the plot of  _ Love Actually, _ planing on the telly in the entertainment centre. Clearly, Harry had gotten home first. Zayn remembers this from last Christmas, that  _ Love Actually _ became the default movie for whenever Harry was home and no one else was around to force him to pick a different one. 

From their spot on the couch, with Zayn’s legs just neatly grazing Liam’s, Zayn can see Greg splayed out on the couch under the windows, looking mostly asleep. He knows Harry, Maya and Stormzy are on the other couch. Has been able to hear Maya and Stormzy on and off talk about organizing the tables for the wedding reception, although they do seem to keep getting distracted arguing about the characters’ storylines, and whether Snape was actually forgiven by Trelawney in the film.

The little timer in Liam’s lap dings, and Liam pauses the movie. They make their way to the kitchen, and Zayn leans against the red counter as Liam removes the lasagna from the oven. It smells delicious and Zayn’s mouth waters. 

“You’re going to burn yourself,” Liam tells him even as the idea pops into Zayn’s head to stick his finger in the top layer of cheese.

“It’d be worth it,” Zayn says, but he doesn’t do it.

Liam dishes two heaping helpings onto plates, and Zayn grins widely as they start to fall apart from the huge layer of ricotta in the middle.

“This is  _ your fault,” _ Liam complains.

“Yes,” Zayn agrees. “And it looks delicious.”

Liam gets out the wine glasses from the top of the cabinet, the shelf that he has to use a footstool to reach, and pours them each a glass of red wine. It’s much more fancy than they deserve, considering this wine is about to be drunk with lasagna while lounging on the couch watching  _ Forrest Gump _ off a laptop.

“Do you think you’ll want more lasagna?” Liam asks, looking over at him.

Zayn shrugs, and then realises this question does actually require an immediate answer. “Don’t think so,” he says. “Let them eat cake.”

Liam hands him his plate and glass of wine. They walk back into the living room and Liam stops at the far end to announce to the room as a whole, “Free lasagna in the kitchen!”

Nothing empties a room like the promise of free lasagna. There’s a stampede of four and then the living room is desolate, only the sound of bad drumming coming from the telly to be heard. 

“You treat them too well,” Zayn tells Liam as they take their spots on the couch again. 

“Don’t lie, you do too,” Liam says. 

After all, Zayn was the one who suggested they make lasagna. 


	10. December 10th

When Niall Horan first really met Gregory James Allen Milward, it was because Greg had a pickup truck and was more than willing to help Niall haul his things across town to their home on E. Redwood. 

Niall had perfectly packed all of his things into labeled plastic totes. They were collapsible, so that he could store them in the basement until future moves. 

Greg had made quick work of hauling them all up into his truck. “It’s the curse of owning a pickup truck,” he had said. “Everyone wants help moving. You get quite good at it.”

Niall, having taken one look at Greg’s truck, had wondered if Greg had let it rust out on purpose to to try to get people to steer clear of asking for help. 

“It’s a little…” Niall had hedged.

“Rustic?” Greg had asked. He cackled. “Still works fine, though! American pickups last forever, I swear they do. Just so you’re aware, though, the handle on your door doesn’t work - I’ll have to open it from the inside.”

_ Oh dear, _ Niall had thought. 

When Greg had let him in, Niall had sat down on the seat and felt the whole truck shift.

“Oh, and something in the suspension’s gone a bit wonky. Don’t worry about that. But  _ do _ be careful with the window. There’s no air con, but if you roll down the window it won’t roll back up.”

The windows  _ were _ the kind that needed to be rolled down. The truck was about as manual as one could be. 

Niall had felt a little afraid for his life.

He had  _ really _ felt afraid for his life about halfway to the new house when the hood started smoking.

“Not an issue,” Greg had said. “It’s not a problem unless the smoke is white.”

Ten minutes later, Niall was on the phone trying to find someone who was willing to pick himself and Greg up from the side of the motorway, as a low fire burned under the hood of Greg’s dying pickup.

(The good news is, Greg’s next vehicle was a minivan, which was equally useful in helping people move).

— 

Niall has learned the hard way that sharing a room with Louis actually means sharing a room with Louis and Harry, and sometimes Greg. 

Today, on a bleak Monday morning, he had woken up with just enough resolve to email another student in his graphic design class for a rehash of whatever was happening in class (probably just another slideshow on typography), and rolled over and went back to sleep.

What he had forgotten about was that on Mondays, Harry got out of class around noon and Louis didn’t go to class at all. 

So what he wakes up to the second time on this bleak Monday morning is a very  _ very  _ warm bed because there is a  _ whole entire person _ draped over him. 

“Harry,” Niall croaks. “I hate you.”

“Good  _ morning, _ Sugarplum!” Harry crows happily. 

“Louis,” Niall says, because he  _ knows _ Louis must be here. “Remove him.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of that,” Louis says, probably from the safety of his own bed. 

“Yeah,” and oh, Greg must be here too. “This is between you and Harry, that much is clear.”

Niall groans. “Why?” he asks. “Why are you like this?”

“You’re warm,” Harry says happily. Niall feels like Harry would be purring if he could.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs watching a Christmas movie?” Niall asks. “Or a  _ Call the Midwife _ Christmas special?”

“I watched that last night,” Harry says. “It made my cry. I’ve banned that show now.”

No real surprise there. 

“Right,” says Niall. “Can’t you at least do something useful and go make me coffee? Whatever is happening here, while possibly cute, is not helping me get coffee.”

Harry’s face, looming and large mere inches from Niall’s, blooms into a smile. “You called me cute!” He scrambles off of Niall, elbowing him in the face and kneeing him in worse. “Coffee coming right up!”

Niall groans in pain. He can hear Louis and Greg laughing in the background. 

“Why are we all gathered here when we have a perfectly useful downstairs?” Niall asks, grabbing his phone from the bedside table and scrolling through his notifications. Glancing over at them, he sees Louis and Greg both on Louis’s bed, with a book and a clunky old laptop, respectively.

“Because it’s freezing downstairs,” Louis says. “Also, Liam’s down there. Studying.”

Ah.  _ “Lord of the Rings?” _

“He’s got the little heater fan going,” Greg says. “Made a proper nest for himself. We just don’t want to disturb him.”

“He’s got that crazy look in his eye like when he got when he was studying for his final in water or whatever last semester.”

“Water treatment and management?”

“Whatever that was yeah, remember when he spent days testing all the manganese in the taps?”

“Except it’s soil this time,” Louis points out. “Which, thankfully, we have none of inside the house.”

“Small blessings that we’ve got fake Christmas trees,” Niall says.

“I think he’s actually testing the soil in the garden,” Greg points out. “He’s filled the teacups with it.”

When Harry rushes up with a cup of coffee for Niall, he finds himself carefully inspecting it for grounds or… dirt.

— 

Liam is still at it in the evening, after Niall has gotten back from his afternoon class. He walks into the house to find Liam curled up on the floor with a blanket around his legs and the small heater fan lighting him with a faint orange glow. 

“Hello, Niall!” Liam says when he looks up. “Welcome back!”

Niall lays his scarf on the couch and jumps almost a foot in the air when the Christmas tree next to him jingles and rattles, its movement disturbing the litany of Christmas baubles on it. He nearly curses before cutting himself off, seeing Evie sticking her face out at the base of the tree.

She puts a finger to her lips and, in the loudest voice Niall thinks she could possibly have used, goes  _ “SHHHHHHHHH!” _

Niall nods at her. He mimes zipping his lips. Evie looks at him like he’s a bit bonkers. 

Toeing off his shoes, Niall leaves them in the fireplace and walks through the living room. There’s four Christmas candles burning simultaneously, one on every surface too high for Evie to reach. Louis is there, standing in the middle of the room and loudly  _ hmmmmmm _ -ing.

“Have you seen Evie?” he asks Niall. “I can’t think where she’s gotten to.”

“Should probably check the basement,” Niall says. 

Louis nods, ignoring Evie’s obvious giggles. “Will do, thank you Nialler.”

Bebe, who is lounging on the couch, is completely ignoring the whole exchange. Likely, with the way she’s been running around after Evie for the last week, she’s happy for the break. 

Niall, personally, has no idea how to interact with children. He’s not at all against them, but he just doesn’t know how they work or what he’s supposed to say. He loves Evie and she can stay as long as she needs, but he’s just as happy not to interact with her. 

Thinking of dinner and possibly a nice beer, Niall heads to the kitchen at the back of the house. Recently there have been more Christmas lights added indoors, and the one in the kitchen are a little jarring - a rainbow of colors instead of the white ones in every other room. Between those and the red countertops, the kitchen has begun to feel a bit, well,  _ excitable _ when the main lights are turned off. 

That’s the state of the kitchen at the moment, dim and colorful with one little Christmas tree on the floor by the door. There’s a mountain of unwashed dishes but, for once, someone is in the process of washing them in the sink.

“Harry?” Niall asks, looking with surprise at the growing pile of drying dishes. 

Harry looks over his shoulder. “Oh. Hi, Niall.”

Niall frowns. “You doing okay?”

Harry shrugs. 

“That’s definitely not an answer,” Niall says, coming over and leaning against the counter. It’s getting his shirt quite wet. Everything is wet here.

Harry stares determinedly down at his sink of diesh. “I’m fine,” he says. He sounds very  _ not _ fine. 

“You’re not,” Niall says. “Out with it.”

Harry’s lower lip sticks out. “It’s  _ nothing,” _ he says. “Really, I’m just being  _ ridiculous.” _

Niall suddenly remembers the last time Harry washed this many dishes - just after his last failed midterm. 

“Oh pet,” Niall says, putting his arm around Harry’s shoulder. 

“It’s really  _ not _ a big deal,” Harry says, scrubbing harder at the pan. “It’s just that ever since the zoo Evie  _ loves _ Louis and that’s  _ great _ and I’m  _ so happy for him _ because he  _ loves _ kids. But now he’s spending all his time with her when she’s home and she still keeps calling me a  _ girl _ which is  _ fine _ like I get called that from customers at work all the time if they don’t see my face but I just want to watch a Christmas movie with Louis and I can’t because she’s taking up all of his time  _ but it’s fine!  _ Because she’s been  _ neglected _ and deserves all the love she can take in and I’m a  _ terrible human being to want that-” _

Oh no. He’s crying now. Niall pulls Harry away from the sink and wraps him in a hug. “You’re not,” he says. “And it’s Christmas and you love Christmas movies, we know you do.”

“I do love Christmas,” Harry says pathetically. 

“And you love Louis,” Niall says.

Harry doesn’t say anything.

“Have you tried bribing Evie?” Niall asks hopefully. 

_ “No,” _ Harry says, but he sounds more petulant this time.

“You know what?” Niall says. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” He takes the scrub brush out of Harry’s hands and puts it in the sink. “You’re going to leave all of these dishes in the sink, where they will sit for a few more weeks because we are terrible human beings. Then you’re going to go pick your preferred Christmas movie and put it on the telly quick before Liam realises that he’s not currently playing  _ Lord of the Rings. _ I’ll take care of Evie.”

Harry frowns. “You’re not going to- kill her. Right?”

Niall snorts. “No,” he says. “There will be no death upon your hands.”

He pats Harry three times on the head and heads back into the living room. “Louis,” he says, catching Louis’s attention from where he seems to be rifling through the shoes in the fireplace looking for Evie (who is behind the couch now). “I need you to spend some time with the curly haired child, now.”

Evie stands up from behind the couch. “My hair isn't curly!” she shouts indignantly.

“I know it’s not,” Niall says. “Which is why you, straight hair child, are coming upstairs with me to go try on all of Maya’s jewelry.”

Evie thinks on it for a moment. “Okay!” she agrees. 

Which is how, ten minutes later, Louis and Harry are found happily curled up on the couch together. At some point, Niall thinks, Harry will have to  _ actually _ talk to Louis about this. But for the moment Niall is too busy to interfere any more, one of his old polaroids in his hands as Evie demands pictures every time she tries on another piece of Maya’s jewelry.

He does hope Maya never finds out.


	11. December 11th

When Harry Edward Styles spent his first night at the house on E. Redwood, he had shared the room with Louis William Tomlinson.

(Every six months at the house on E. Redwood, it had become tradition to draw names out of a hat to see who would room with who. It was a huge hassle and everyone sort of bitched about it happening, but there had been so many fights at one point about who got to room with who that this had been implemented as the permanent solution). 

He’d been nervous - having spent all day driving up from Holmes Chapel, car weighed down with everything he held most dear, getting them into some sort of a semblance of a bedroom in the little room that he was to share with Louis… It had exhausted him mentally and physically, and he hadn’t even thought to ask someone if there were any tricks to the shower yet. 

Everyone had been  _ so _ nice. Harry had only met Louis’ roommates once before, at a pub night that they had invited him to so that they could all properly meet before he moved in. 

Liam was clearly the house mum, so to speak, the way he immediately took charge of every situation - already Harry felt like he looked up to him. Niall was sarcastic but not in a mean way, and he scared Harry a little at first but he seemed like a good guy too. Greg had broken two beer glasses so Harry immediately felt at ease around him, like Greg had  _ broken the ice _ , so to speak. Maya had been the most friendly, buying him a pint and then assuring him that if anyone were to break his heart he should come straight to her, and she would “deal with it”, whatever that meant. Bebe was by far the most intimidating, she was cool and put together and while he didn’t think she was the eldest of the group by any means, she gave off “adult” vibes. Even she was nice, though, and once she found out he was planning on bringing his old Nintendo gaming systems she had warmed right up to him.

And then there had been Louis, who had stuck by his side the whole night. Louis, who was loud loud loud but in everything considered Harry and what he would want or need. Louis, who had almost immediately offered Harry a place to live when he had begun looking and now was going to be his  _ roommate. _

Everyone who had been home had helped him move his stuff in over the course of the day, and already Harry had felt at home. But then, with people beginning to go off to bed, Harry was suddenly struck that he was going to go to sleep in this house, and wake up in this house, and this was going to be his  _ home _ now, at least until he went home to his parents’ for Christmas break.

And suddenly it was overwhelming. 

Which is how he ended up on the floor of the kitchen, eating jaffa cakes straight out of the bag and wondering who decided that going to university meant you were an  _ adult _ and able to  _ make decisions _ and oh god, he was going to have to learn how to do a weekly shop. 

“Harry?”

Harry had looked up and seen Louis walking into the kitchen, clad in plaid pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers.

Louis had taken a seat on the floor next to him, stealing a Jaffa cake from Harry’s package. “You alright?”

Harry had shrugged. “I guess.”

“You’re not,” Louis had said. “Missing home already?”

Harry had shrugged again.

“Because you’re allowed to, you know. Everyone’s a little homesick when they first leave home.” Louis had slung an arm around his shoulder. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“I don’t know how the shower works,” Harry had said, distractedly licking the chocolate off of his fingers. “And I miss my cat.”

“You need to turn the handle on the shower all the way to the right and then back a quarter turn,” Louis had said. “And keep the door open a little, or else when you leave at the end of the shower you’ll set the fire alarm off.” He had thought for a moment. “And if you want a cat, I bet one will appear for you. They know when they’re needed.”

“How would you even  _ know _ that?” Harry had asked, eyeing him. “You’re  _ allergic.” _

Now it was Louis’ turn to shrug. “Just because they kill me doesn’t mean I don’t love them.”

Harry had giggled, his eyes a little watery but his heart happy at least. They stayed on the floor a while longer, still, finishing off the Jaffa cakes as Louis tried to explain all the eccentricities of the house. 

Harry, ever the night-showerer because he hates the idea of going to bed  _ dirty, _ tried out the shower that night, and it was tiny but worked just fine (and he didn’t set off the alarm!). 

Louis had already gone to sleep, and Harry had tried so  _ so _ carefully to not make the slightest bit of noise as he climbed into bed— that is, until he realised that he didn’t have his phone charger, and his phone’s charge was in the single digits.

Shit.

Thus, the next ten minutes were spent trying to be as  _ quiet as humanly possible _ as he rifled through his still-packed boxes looking for his charging cord. Once having  _ found _ his charging cord, it became another struggle because he didn’t actually know where any outlets were. 

It was in his shuffle around the perimeter of his side of the room when Louis rolled over. Harry froze. Louis sat up in bed, eyes still closed, looking thoroughly  _ annoyed. _

_ Shit. _

“Can you  _ please,” _ Louis had said,  _ very _ loudly in the quiet room. “Keep it  _ down.  _ You’re being  _ rude.” _

And then he had rolled back over and gone quiet again. 

Harry had stood frozen for what felt like hours. He had felt shaken. Eventually, he had snuck out of the room and spent that first night downstairs on the couch.

The next morning when Louis had come downstairs and saw Harry on the couch, he had asked what happened. When Harry had, very self consciously, admitted that he didn’t want to wake Louis again, Louis had looked confused, and then upset.

“Oh no,” he had said. “What did I say?”

“You don’t- you don’t remember?”

Louis had shaken his head. “I’m so sorry,” he had said. “So,  _ so _ sorry, Harry. I talk in my sleep sometimes, and I’ve been told that it’s generally… not nice. I swear it’s not on purpose. I’ve been working on it. Oh god, I feel so  _ terrible.” _

Harry had reassured him that it was fine, the hurt in his heart a tiny bit assuaged by Louis’ apologies and explanation.

“Please, if it happens again, feel free to tell me to fuck off. Wake me up, even. I swear I don’t mean it. I know that’s shit to say, but I swear. I don’t ever remember having said it. I’ve yelled at my  _ mum  _ before!”

And Harry had patted the spot next to him on the couch, and Louis had crawled on next to him, looking like a kicked puppy. It would take a while to get over the sting of the night before, but Harry thought this was the right direction.

— 

Harry’s embarrassed. 

He’s  _ so _ embarrassed. 

He shouldn’t have said all that to niall last night. What was he thinking?

He doesn’t hate Evie. He’s not jealous of Evie. He was just having a  _ strop _ because suddenly he’s not the baby of the house any longer. 

He’s doing the dishes again now. It helps him think. His hands submerged in warm, soapy water, the slow emergence of a clear and empty red countertop, the mounting pile of clean, drying dishes… It’s all very therapeutic.

He’s the only one home, at least as far as he’s aware. It’s almost dusk, a rare time for the house ot be so empty, but he’s taking full advantage. 

He’s lit a candle in each room, pushed all the shoes into the fireplace, swept the floors (not that they look any better), and put his copy of  _ Love Actually _ on loud enough that he can hear it in the kitchen as he washes. 

He’s trying not to think about yesterday. He’s  _ trying _ to make a Christmas list. He wants to get Christmas presents for everyone before they leave for break. 

_ Oh yeah…  _ Louis’ going home for a week for Christmas. Harry won’t see him for a full week. 

_ No! Back on track! Christmas presents! _

(This is how his thoughts have been looping all day). 

The lock in the door at the back of the kitchen sounds, the one only used when someone parked a block over because their own block was too parked up. Harry looks up just in time to see Louis force the door inward, the cold blowing in with him.

_ “Fuck _ it’s cold,” Louis curses, slamming it shut behind him. “Harry!” he exclaims a moment later, his eyes lighting up. “Harry, you’re home!”

“I am,” Harry says, feeling confused. “Should I be somewhere else?”

“No, of course not!” Louis says, sliding the bag in his hands behind his back. “But Thumbs and Batcat are sitting on the front porch next to their empty bowls, so i figured-”

_ “The cats are here?” _ Harry squeals, dropping his sponge in the sink. He races to the front door, hearing Louis’s laughter trail behind him. Sure enough, there’s Batcat, sitting on the window ledge and looking plaintively in the front bay window at the Christmas trees. 

“Hello baby,” Harry coos as he unlocks the front door and grabs the bag of cat food from the floor. He opens the door and finds Thumbs sitting, patiently, about two inches from the doorway, looking up at him expectantly. “Hello  _ Thumbly baby!” _ Harry sings, squatting down and embracing Thumbs in a cuddle that she, well,  _ tolerates. _

Thumbs is what all his roommates refer to as  _ the rubbish cat, _ because if she’s not on their porch they can generally find her literally inside the wheelie bins in the alley. She’s only got one ear and she’s a polydactyl - literally has extra appendages on her little kitty feet. Harry loves her more than anything (Batcat is good too but Harry suspects she has a real home somewhere and is just using them for their food). 

“Here babies,” he coos. “Eat up and get fat just like good cats should.” He fills their bowls and when they’re happily eating he heads back inside to get their water bowls. He can’t just leave them outside because at this temperature the water just freezes, but whenever they’re here he’ll make sure they’re hydrated. 

He almost runs into Louis, though, right inside the door, who already has their water bowls in each hand.

Harry, still feeling strangely emotional, feels tears spring to his eyes.  _ “Thank you,” _ he says, taking them from Louis. “They’re poison to you but you  _ still love them!” _

Louis snorts. “You know I won’t, like,  _ die _ from touching them, right? Allergies aren’t a death sentence.”

_ “Still,”  _ Harry says, stepping back out the door and setting down the water bowls for Thumbs and Batcat. “I feel  _ touched.” _

Louis laughs, and crouches in the open doorway. “They’re cute,” he says. “As long as my throat doesn’t close up, I’ll love them as much as I can.”

Harry will seriously cry. Louis is full of love. Harry loves Louis.

_ Christmas list, _ Harry’s brain reminds him. “Want to go Christmas shopping?” he asks Louis.

“Um.” Louis frowns at the subject change but quickly recovers. “Sure?”

Christmas shopping isn’t as good of a distraction technique if Louis is there too, but on the other hand… Louis is going home for a week for Christmas, so Harry feels justified in spending all his free time with him now.

“Can we stop by that handmade shop on the corner?” Louis asks, putting on the coat he had only started to take off. “They have dragon figurines, and I think Greg would  _ love _ a dragon figurine.”


	12. December 12th

The day Liam James Payne took Zayn Javadd Malik to the car boot sale down the road, he ended up with what might be the best purchase of his life.

He hadn’t gone with the intention to  _ buy _ anything, he was really just a fan of “kitschy old grandmother items” as Zayn called them. Liam had spent a good twenty minutes walking around looking at what must have been a lifetime of teacup collecting, homemade doll clothes, wobbly chairs and three legged stools, until he saw it-

The whiteboard.

“Zayn,” he had said, very seriously. “Zayn, do you think that’s for sale?”

“Considering someone’s written ‘ten quid’ on it with a whiteboard marker, yeah, I’d say so Liam,” Zayn had said, laughing at him.

“I need it,” Liam had said, shocked at his own forwardness. Liam was always the one arguing with roommates when they tried to bring more furniture into the house. In a house of six people, more furniture would  _ never _ be a good thing, and the dining table that had sat outside their back door for two weeks because no one could figure out how to get it inside had been proof enough of that.

But. This whiteboard.  _ Ten pounds. _ It was  _ huge, _ probably three by five feet and it didn’t look horribly disfigured in any way. He could do  _ homework _ on it! They could use it for house meeting business! They could make a welcome sign on it for Harry, who was going to be moving in in a week!

By the time he had stopped gawking over it and went to fetch out money, Zayn had already paid for it. 

“Right, now the issue here is,” Zayn clapped him on the back. “We have to get it home.”

They got it home the same way they always got their watermelons home from the shop (always having chosen the largest one available) - balanced between the two of them, walking down the pavement as one of them (usually Zayn) tries to avoid walking backwards into bushes.

When they had successfully maneuvered it up the stairs and inside the house, Liam set it up front and centre in the living room, propping it up so that it totally blocked the entertainment centre. He could already tell this would be the best investment of his university career. 

“You know all your roommates are going to mock you for this, right?” Zayn had asked, laughing at him. Liam knew he looked ridiculous, grinning so wide over a huge whiteboard. He didn’t care. 

“They’re not going to be mocking me when I buy a  _ huge pack of multicoloured whiteboard markers,” _ Liam tells him. “Let’s go. We don’t have any markers and I want to write on it  _ right now.” _

He had dragged Zayn to the store and unashamedly bought the largest pack of markers he could find, hoping they would last him at least until the end of the semester. Or the end of the week, depending on how excited his roommates were going to be. 

He hoped they would be excited. He was excited.

When they got back to Liam’s house (with the fixings for lasagna as well as the markers), Liam walked in the door and then saw, to his horror, that the whiteboard now bore a (slightly explicit) message written in bold black.

Underneath that message, a smaller one read,  _ “Oh god i didn’t realise this was a permanent marker im so sorry to whoever bought this ill buy you a new one please dont be mad” _

Instantly recognizing Greg’s handwriting, Liam cursed himself for not having hidden the board until he bought the proper markers.

Still, almost four hours and a high number of cleaning products later, Liam was eating lasagna happily as Zayn sat next to him on the floor and used the brand new markers on the brand new used whiteboard to illustrated what looked to be a cat, sitting lazily atop a wheelie bin, a crown on her head.

“That’s the rubbish cat,” Zayn had said at Liam’s confused look. “I saw her outside your house earlier this week.”

— 

For a group of seven university students at various stages of their various degrees, Liam thinks that all things considered introducing a five year old into their house has gone spectacularly well.

It helps, of course, that Bebe has more or less raised this child on her own for large stretches of her life, and gotten help from her parents at other parts. It helps knowing that Bebe’s parents have been drawing up adoption paperwork more or less since the first time Evie went a month without seeing her mother - because her mother had temporarily moved in with a boyfriend down south without even mentioning to Bebe she’d be gone more than a day.

Really, Liam marvels all the time at how well behaved Evie can be (as far as five year olds go - she’s not an angel, by any means). The only thing in the house that she’s broken is a glass mug with the Hogwarts logo emblazoned on it (and Harry took it surprisingly well when he found out - only a handful of tears were shed).

Still, Liam sits and he thinks and he _worries._ He wonders if his roommates are really thinking through the next couple weeks, between Evie living here, final exams next week to be revising for, Maya’s bachelorette party coming up, her _wedding_ of all things, not to mention the worst tradition of all happening this weekend -

Classy Christmas.

And so far life with a five year old in the house, while tiring, has been fairly easy. Bebe has been keeping people updated on Evie’s mum, who still seems to be staying well away, and the progress being made towards adoption, but Liam worries. Because Christmas time can be stressful enough. But his roommates have a habit of forgetting about important social events, and then making brash decisions at the last minute (like Louis last year spending 60£ on apple cider for classy Christmas), and adding a five year old into the mix...

Well. Liam worries.

He worries so much, in fact, that he pulls out the whiteboard that’s been sitting behind the tan couch in the living room, a little worn and scratched up after years of use in their house, and props it up against the entertainment centre, having to take a second after he’s accidentally shifted the whole thing to fix the bits of Louis’ Christmas village that have toppled over. 

_ The Plan _ he writes on it in bold letters. 

“Are you making a five year plan?” Harry asks from the other couch, looking up from his laptop (where he  _ said _ he was doing revisions but was definitely on Neopets). 

“I’m not,” Liam tells him, uncapping a light blue marker. “I’m making a two week plan.”

“Seems a little fast,” Harry says. “To each their own.”

“Their own what?” Bebe asks, walking in from the kitchen with Evie at her heels. Evie has figured out that the basement is a treasure trove of Things That Probably Belonged to Old Roommates and all day has been carrying around the most hideous stuffed animal she found down there. It’s part penguin and part dinosaur and impossible to describe in any other way except that it has “junk in its trunk” - a phrase that Louis used without thinking and that Evie has been repeating ever since.

“I’m making a house plan-” Liam starts.

“Oh, like what to do in case of a fire?” Bebe asks.

“In case of fire you stop, shop and roll,” Evie informs them all, plunking her dinopenguin on the coffee table.

“No, baby,” Bebe says, looking concerned.

“It does get you out of the house at least,” Harry points out.

“A  _ two week plan,” _ Liam barrels on, “because no one in this house understands a calendar and we have  _ several large events _ coming up that we need to prepare for.”

Harry blinks. “Like what?”

Liam writes under the  _ The Plan _ title,  _ Classy Christmas. _

“Oh shi- shoot,” Harry says, “I forgot about that.”

“It’s on  _ Saturday,” _ Liam tells him.

“Huh,” says Harry. “You’re right. I don’t understand calendars.”

“I realised that when, for the third year in a row, we decided to host it the weekend before final exams,” Liam says. “Which is why we are making a plan.”

He colour codes the plan. Classy Christmas is in blue. Wedding (and bachelorette) are in maroon. Finals are in brown because they’re dumb and gross and no one likes finals. 

Louis comes in while he’s writing what need purchased for Classy Christmas, their unnecessarily fancy Christmas party. 

“Oh hey!” Louis says, throwing off his coat and climbing onto the couch next to Harry. “Classy Christmas! That’s in a few weeks, right?”

Liam lays his forehead against the whiteboard. He rubs off some of the  _ P  _ in plan. “It’s Saturday,” he says. 

“Oh!” Louis says, perking up. “That’s awesome! We should be preparing!”

Liam needs to drink some wine.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. He’s got a new bottle of Barefoot somewhere.

Bebe, reading his mind apparently, calls after him, “Pour me some!”

When Liam returns, a few minutes later with two glasses of rose, Evie has grabbed a marker and has drawn a companion for her dinopenguin on the board. It seems to be a kitten with antlers. 

“That’s Santa’s cat,” she says.

“Makes sense,” Liam says. 

He leaves Santa’s cat there, in the corner of the board, and works around it. Maybe Santa’s cat will help them get through these busy weeks without anything terrible happening.


	13. December 13th

Louis William Tomlinson took Harry Edward Styles to the cat shelter as a present for his nineteenth birthday, and nearly landed himself in A&E for the trouble.

(He doesn’t regret it, mind you). 

The one thing that Harry had often bemoaned in leaving his mum’s house was having to leave Dusty behind. While Anne did send almost daily pictures of Dusty, this was both cheering and depressing to Harry, and he’d show them off to everybody with a pout on his face.

Louis was a dog person. This was probably in large part because he was very allergic to cats, and therefore they had always had dogs growing up. He just didn’t quite understand how cats worked. He liked cats, but from a distance, because any closer and they seemed to be able to sense his allergies would rub up against him until he was sneezing and his tongue started swelling. This was very rude of them and only increased how untrustworthy they were in his mind.

But at the same time, he knew that coming into contact with an army of cats would be totally worth it to give Harry the best birthday present he could think of. 

Louis had told Harry to clear his schedule on his birthday - it was a Tuesday that year, and he had already celebrated with his family that weekend. He’d managed to keep it a secret right up until they actually had to drive there, since Louis didn’t have a car and was terrible with directions, so he had to enter the destination into Harry’s smartphone. 

It was all worth it to see Harry’s expression right in that moment.

“We’re not  _ adopting,” _ Louis had been quick to clarify, even as he was downing an allergy pill. “But they say they’re totally open to visitors who just want to play with the cats for an afternoon.”

Harry’s eyes had welled up with tears, which did rather concern Louis, but Harry assured him that they were all happy tears. “Oh my god,” he kept saying. “Oh my  _ god _ oh  _ my god, oh my god.” _

Louis was a little afraid that Harry was going to crash the car.

When they arrived at the cat shelter, a building behind a row of storefronts that would go totally unmissed if you didn’t know when to turn, the first thing Louis thought was,  _ this was a horrible idea and I am going to die. _

Then he had looked over at Harry, who seemed to have literal stars in his eyes, and thought,  _ well it might be worth it anyway. _

It was, even though Louis spent almost the entire time in the outdoor part of the cat sanctuary, where one grizzly old cat named Flapjacks who  _ looked larger than most dogs Louis knew _ kept stalking up and down the fence behind him and staring him down. Harry spent the whole time in ecstacy, taking all the cats who seemed to just walk into his arms outside to meet Louis, and sending him pictures of all the ones asleep on the cat beds. 

Louis took one look back when they left, just in time to see Flapjack scale the fence and land on the roof of the cat shelter, and to this day he’s convinced it must have had some sort of bobcat or snow leopard DNA in it. 

— 

Sometimes, Louis wakes up with Harry’s curls in his face (like today).

Sometimes, Louis comes downstairs and Harry offers him eggs on toast (like today).

Sometimes, Louis walks to class alone with the music in his headphones turned up high and an existential crisis happening in his head.

(Like today).

Louis loves Harry. He knows that perfectly well, no matter how much his roommates seem to think he needs convincing of that fact. He loves Harry a lot, and he’s pretty sure (pretty much certain) that Harry feels the same way back. 

This is all well and good, except it’s at this point when any rational person would be asking well then,  _ why _ doesn’t Louis just  _ ask him out? _

And well, that’s the part he knows the most, in his heart of hearts; it’s pure, unadulterated  _ fear. _

Because as soon as he asks Harry out, that’s just a countdown to it all going wrong. 

Because he remembers finding out that he had yelled at Harry in his sleep  _ on his first night in the new house _ and he’s worried that actually dating Harry would mean sharing a bed, and that would mean it would happen more often. 

Because Harry wants to get a Master’s and a PhD and become a professor. He’s got his life planned out and he’s going to be very smart and Louis has spent all of his university years taking classes that he can’t even remember, toward a teaching degree that will make him almost no money if he’s being perfectly honest with himself. And someday Harry is going to look back on their relationship as being wasted with someone so much less intelligent. Because Harry, as much as he’s the baby of the house and will eat macaroni noodles for a week rather than simply go to the shops, is booksmart in a way Louis never has been.

Because Harry will, eventually, wise up to every one of Louis’ flaws, and then what?

Because Louis is a coward, and he’d rather keep Harry close to himself for as long as possible than experience how amazing dating him would be and then losing it all. 

— 

When Louis gets home, the front door is open. 

This isn’t the best time for the front door to be open, considering it’s definitely below freezing and there’s a dusting of snow on the ground. The screen door, at least, is closed, but that’s not much of a defence from the temperatures. 

As he walks up the steps he realises that, on top of that, there seems to be a large square hole in the middle of the screen door, where the  _ screen should be. _

“Hello!” he calls as he enters. “Are we inviting burglars now, then?” 

The house smells a little… burnt.

“Louis!” That’s Greg’s voice. “I did a bad thing!”

With trepidation, Louis walks further into the house. It definitely smells a little burnt in here. He walks all the way to the kitchen before he finds Greg, looking quite pathetic on his hands and knees, cleaning out the microwave which looks to be rather, well, blackened on the inside.

“What,” says Louis. “What could you possibly have done?”

“I put ramen in the microwave,” Greg says, sheepish. 

“That’s where it’s supposed to go.”

“Yes well… I forgot to add water first.” Greg motions toward the bin, where the remains of his lunch must be. “It turns out it catches on fire without water.”

“So the front door is open to air out the house?”

Greg nods.

“And what about the screen door?”

“Ah…” and yet again, Greg looks embarrassed. “I might have accidentally knee’d the screen door. And the screen popped out. But I can put it back in! Probably. I just wanted to fix this before Maya got back, since this is her microwave and I want to hide all the evidence.”

“I see,” Louis says. He shivers. “Why didn’t you just open the  _ back  _ door? The one right here? In the kitchen?”

“Ah,” says Greg. “Didn’t really think of that.”

“Right.”

Louis screws up his face, because he feels like he shouldn’t be laughing at Greg’s misfortune, but it  _ is _ rather funny. “I’m going to close the front door, because it’s a bit nippy in here. We can burn some of Harry’s and Maya’s candles to cover the smell.”

He opens the back door and goes to shut the front door. Before he’s gotten all the way through the front room, though, he stops short.

There, with her paws resting on the opening in the door where the screen should be, is Thumbs. 

She must be on her hind legs, and she’s sniffing with interest, her one ear twitching. 

“Oh no,” says Louis.

Thumbs takes the opportunity to jump through the hole in the door. 

“Oh  _ no,” _ says Louis. 

Thumbs takes one look at him, walks right by with her tail raised high, and Louis briefly considers just leaving the house and pretending he never saw her. He doesn’t understand cats, he doesn’t know how to bribe her!

Thankfully, when he moves to retrieve the screen to see if he could pop it back in the door, he nudges the bag of cat food by the door. Thumbs, immediately on alert, bounds back to him, sniffs at the bag, and then jumps through the door to go sit by her food bowl on the porch expectantly. 

“Good girl,” Louis says, feelings relieved. “Now let’s pretend you haven’t just learned how to enter our house.”

He can’t figure out how to put the screen back on the door. Instead, after feeding Thumbs, he just closes the main door and pretends it’s not his problem. 

He’s good at that, pretending to not think about thinks.


	14. December 14th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is a little late and a little short - because I graduated today! Your favourite Christmas fic writer has her masters in library and information science! I'm gonna be a real librarian now!
> 
> But anyway, Classy Christmas is coming up. Carry on.

Zayn Javadd Malik was with Liam James Payne the day Liam had a breakdown about his chosen major.

He had been totally uncomfortable, because he has always been very bad with emotions. Thankfully, Liam is the only person he has ever known who is even worse with emotion than he is. In fact, this was the one and only time he’s ever seen Liam cry. 

Zayn, feeling completely helpless, had done the only thing that he could think of. He’d poured Liam a glass of wine.

(Liam loves wine - it was that or ice cream, but they were out of ice cream).

“I just think I’ve made a MISTAKE,” Liam had sobbed as Zayn awkwardly patted his arm. 

“Probably not,” Zayn had said.

“This just - it isn’t what I care about,” he had sniffed. “I thought this would be more about the actual environment and it’s not and I don’t- I don’t want to have to start OVER-“ he took a sip of wine. “What if I NEVER GRADUATE?”

“You’ll graduate,” Zayn had been quick to assure him. “That’s not really an issue here.”

“But-“

“Facts only, babe. Tell me facts.”

Liam had been silent for a moment before letting out shuddering sigh. “I’m upset because I feel like I wasted my time,” he says. “And I don’t want to be behind everyone else.”

Zayn wanted to laugh. “Babe,” he had said, patting Liam on the head. “You’ve never gotten lower than an A. You’ve taken more classes than your advisor has recommended. You could STILL graduate before Maya and Bebe. There’s no way you WONT graduate before Greg.”

“He’s taken a semester off to intern at the radio station.”

“And if you wanted to take a year off, I’d support that too.”

Liam had made a face. “Of course you would,” he argued weakly. “You’re my BOYFRIEND.”

Zayn had rolled his eyes. “Yes I am,” he had said. “But that didn’t stop me from mocking you last week when you bought those leggings with the cat pattern on them.”

“Those are COMFORTABLE.” Liam pouts. “You know how I feel about waistbands.”

“You hate them and wish trousers weren’t a part of life.”

“Exactly.”

“So.” Zayn had leveled him with a look. “Are you going to change your major?”

Liam had looked down into his wine. “Probably,” he had said. “I’m just afraid.”

“You can be afraid,” Zayn had told him. “Just don’t let it stop you from making rational choices. You love your rational choices.”

“I do,” Liam agreed. “I do love rational choices.”

That being said, Liam loves BOOKSMART rational choices. Zayn had smiled at just how excited Liam was to start the classes. He had also smiled when, a day later, Liam had texted him a picture of his boots, where he had thought maybe he could repair the scuff marks by sanding them, and had sanded a hole in his boot.

Zayn loves him very much a lot.

— 

Zayn sits and stares at his half finished paintings. He sits and he looks and he worries and the bubble of anxiety reaches the surface - that finals are next week, that nothing is done, that to finish in time might need a feat of superhuman strength at this point. That he doesn’t  _ want _ to work on these, and that sometimes it makes him feel physically sick to look at them. 

He sits and stares and he worries and the anxiety bubbles pop like champagne in his stomach, noxious and terrible. He feels frozen, if only he could just  _ work  _ on them-

But he sits and he stares.

And he texts Liam.

**Zee:** _ Need any help preparing for Classy Christmas? _

**Liam:** _ Oh god yes please _

And he leaves, the paintings sitting in imposing silence in his darkened flat behind him. 

— 

The house at E. Redwood is in a state of chaos, although it often is. 

Zayn walks in because the door is thrown wide, and he stands and stares for a moment. 

The Christmas lights have increased in number, now hanging over every wall and framing every painting (the ones Harry and Bebe made proudly together, which all look a little… indescribable). The three trees in the front window area have added to their number, two smaller ones on either side of the fireplace. There are no longer shoes in the fireplace, but instead they have simply moved to the middle of the room, with a sign atop them that reads  _ shoe farm, please claim! _

Evie is sitting next to the shoes. She has a bowl of popcorn beside her, along with a bottle of glue. She seems to be gluing the popcorn together. 

Past her, in the living room, Maya is adoring everything with… cotton? It’s definitely supposed to be snow. She’s arguing with Louis, who seems to be shielding his Christmas village with his body. Greg is also there, crouching down and cleaning the floor with what looks like window cleaner. At least he’s trying.

There is music blasting through the house that Zayn assumes is coming from the kitchen - currently it seems to be a rendition of  _ Little Donkey, _ possibly the  _ worst _ Christmas song for anyone over the age of eight. 

Oh, Niall is also in the living room, Zayn realises. He’s asleep, partially under the coffee table.

“Hey!” Evie yells. Zayn looks down at her.

“You don’t live here!”

“No I don’t,” Zayn says. “I’m friends with Liam.”

She gives him a stormy look. “Liam told me I could only have  _ two chocolates,”  _ she says.

“He tells me that too,” Zayn says gravely,

“He’s not nice.”

“I think he’s very nice,” Zayn says. He bends down, and puts his hand up in a comical whisper.  _ “He just wants all the chocolate for himself.” _

Evie’s eyes grow wide.  _ “Really?” _ she asks.

Zayn nods.  _ “But don’t tell!” _ he mock whispers.

“I won’t!” Evie says. Zayn is pretty sure she will. 

He walks through the house to the kitchen, because Liam is bound to be in the kitchen. Sure enough, the source of the music reveals itself to be Harry, playing music as he does dishes, and Liam - standing on his little blue footstool and dusting the tops of the cabinets. 

“I don’t think anyone will be looking up there,” Zayn points out.

“I should hope not,” Liam says, glancing down at him. “But Maya wants to put more Christmas lights up here and if they catch on fire because it’s so fucking  _ dusty _ then this isn’t going to go well. Plus, it’s gross. There’s probably mold up here too.”

“That’s why they’re tall enough for us to not see up there,” Zayn points out. 

Liam hops down. He holds up his hand for a high five (which Zayn takes), and then also awkwardly pats him on the head. “How would you feel...” he hedges, drawing out the word.

“Continue,” Zayn says.

“Taking my card and buying biscuits? And cheese and crackers. And cloves and cinnamon and oranges for mulled wine. And possibly wine, I’m not sure we have enough.”

The stress on his face increases as he speaks. Zayn takes the card.

“Of course,” he says. “But text me a list. And an upper limit to spend because I know you need a  _ lot. _

“Keep it under a hundred and don’t be afraid to go cheap on the wine. No one notices what the labels are when the room is only lit by Christmas lights anyway.”

“Get sparkling grape juice!” Harry yells from the sink. “For Evie!”

Oh man. Evie at Classy Christmas sounds like a disaster in the making. Especially with a cup of bright red sparkling grape juice.

Liam seems to be reading his mind. “They sell sparkling  _ white _ grape,” he says. 

“Oh good,” Zayn says. He offers another high five, which Liam takes.

“Thank you,” Liam says, looking at least a little relieved. “You’re more than i deserve.”

Zayn sticks the collar of his jumper in his mouth.

“Except when you do that,” Liam says, tugging it out. “Stop that.”

Zayn grins. “You can’t tell me what to do,” he says, sticking the collar back in his mouth before immediately taking a step back. He waves.

Liam rolls his eyes.

This is love, probably.


	15. December 15th

When Niall James Horan attended his first Classy Christmas party, it was only a few months after he moved in and he was totally unprepared.

No one had really, well,  _ told _ him what to expect. The house meeting they had held the night before went basically along the lines of  _ we forgot that we have Classy Christmas scheduled for tomorrow so whoops we’d better clean and also buy food and stuff, _ and that was all well and good, it sounded like a normal, calm house party. He hadn’t known any of his roommates to host a party before this, but he assumed they were the type to host small, entertaining parties where everyone was lightly sloshed by the end of it and probably everyone is in bed by midnight.

That was not the Classy Christmas he attended, however. 

When Niall had gotten off of work that Saturday at four, the party wasn’t scheduled to start until seven. In those three hours, he witnessed two emotional breakdowns (one over the playlist, and one over the platters the biscuits had been stacked on), he had seen the house adorned in more Christmas lights than he thought was probably legal, by fire code standards, and he had had to come to the realisation that the  _ classy _ in Classy Christmas really did mean  _ classy. _ Like, black tie and gown-level classy. 

“What is  _ happening?” _ he had asked in pure confusion as he entered the room of requirements on the middle floor to find Maya and Bebe in black, sparkling dresses, sitting on the floor with makeup laid out all around them, as Bebe curled Maya’s hair.

“Classy Christmas,” Maya had said. 

“I didn’t even know you  _ owned _ a suit,” he had said as he had entered his own room to find Greg choosing what tie to go with the maroon suit he had dawned. 

“Classy Christmas,” Greg had said. 

“I’m so  _ confused,” _ he had confessed when he had come back downstairs to find Liam in a beautifully tailed black tux, standing in the kitchen stirring one of four slow cookers that were all labeled with different kinds of cider and mulled wine.

“Classy Christmas,” Liam had said with a sigh. 

It had been more people than Niall had ever thought could fit inside their little half double (certainly more than legally should have). They spilled out onto the lawn in their dresses and suits (and a few underdressed in collared shirts and Christmassy sweater vests). They drank mulled cider and hot chocolate and wine for hours, and boxed rosé when they ran out of that. The last guest didn’t leave until near three in the morning, and Niall was amazed that the fire department was never called, and no noise complaints filed. It probably helped that he recognized the majority of his neighbors traipsing through at one point or another. 

So. Niall knew what to expect from Classy Christmas after that year. But he always did wonder how they consistently managed to pull off such an incredibly full and successful party on so little planning or preparation.

Christmas magic, maybe. Or sheer dumb luck.

— 

Technically, Classy Christmas is supposed to be Maya’s pet project. Supposedly, since she’s getting married this month, next year Classy Christmas is going to be held at her house. Niall sort of doubts that’s going to happen, though, because there seems to be a growing resistance from all the other roommates over this idea. He’s not sure  _ why, _ considering the hassle that everyone (mostly Liam) goes to the day before and the day of. 

Classy Christmas is, every year, scheduled the weekend before exams week. Every year, everybody agrees this is a terrible choice. Yet every year, it’s the only one that everyone will be home for. 

That’s why, when he comes downstairs at noon, Niall sees almost every roommate (save Greg, who’s definitely still asleep) in the kitchen or living room with their textbooks and laptops out. It’s a little comical, among the intense onslaught of decorations they’ve covered the house with. The fake frost dusting the windows, the popcorn balls Evie glued together hanging from the ceiling. 

Evie, to her credit, is humming to herself, splayed out underneath the coffee table with her alphabet flashcards scattered around her. To her detriment, she seems to be coloring on them with expo markers, but Niall can pretend he didn’t see that. 

He heads into the kitchen to make coffee and sees, already lined up across the red countertop, four slow cookers and two coffee pots, not including their normal one, with spices and hot chocolate mix ready to be dispersed between them. 

“Morning, Niall,” Liam says. He’s camped out on the floor with his soil textbooks and macbook, which Niall can tell is playing  _ The Lord of the Rings. _

“Afternoon, actually,” Niall says.

“Oh dear,” Liam says. “That’s terrible.”

Niall puts the coffee on.

— 

By three in the afternoon, people have started moving a bit. Harry and Louis have been attempting some baking to help pad the table of store bought treats, but they’ve burnt two batches so far and have mostly just been eating the few salvageable parts. 

Zayn’s come over to assist Liam (which translate to, making sure he stays sane, Niall thinks), and the two of them are hanging Christmas lights on the front porch. Thumbs is there too, although she’s looking quite disinterested in the proceedings. 

The temperature outside has been steadily dropping since noon, and as Niall steps out to survey their handiwork his breath forms clouds in front of him. 

“You need any help?” he asks as Liam stands on the pillar next to the stairs and Zayn leans against it below him to smoke. 

“We’re good,” Liam calls, glancing down at him. “If you want to help someone, I’d say forcibly remove Harry and Louis from the kitchen before the whole party smells like burnt biscuits.”

“I don’t think that’s a force that can be stopped,” Niall says, “But I’ll try my best!”

Zayn snorts and Liam chuckles, but he’s too invested in getting his lights on the hook to say much else, so Niall continues back inside.

He can hear Evie yelling upstairs, something about not wanting to take a bath (which means he can hear her clearly from two floors away - a scary thought), and decides he shouldn’t try to locate anyone upstairs to help, the headache isn’t worth it. 

He wanders aimlessly and eventually appoints himself as the chief of the mulled wine slow cooker. 

— 

The guests don’t arrive until seven. The house is pristine, as much as it can be, and all the overhead lights have been switched off. The only light comes from the Christmas lights in every room, softly lighting the elegant dresses of the women (Bebe and Maya) and the suits of the men (except Harry, who was mortified to learn his only suit jacket had become too small in the shoulders for his widening frame, and so had instead become one of  _ those guys, _ donning a sleeveless jumper and collared shirt and looking more than a little put out by it.

Niall had personally felt in a rather sour mood for most of the afternoon. No one’s done anything terribly wrong, the set-up has actually gone much better than in past years. Still, he stands in the corner of the kitchen as guests begin to circle through and pour themselves drinks.

Harry and Louis, as expected really, haven’t left each others’ sides all night. They’ve been  _ literally _ in each other’s pockets, giggling and leaning against each other and making Niall absolutely  _ sick. _

Liam and Zayn have been on the porch since people have started showing up. Niall was out there briefly with them, watching as Liam warmly greets everything and Zayn silently nods. They’re so comfortable with each other, and Niall loves them but he leaves, because he just doesn’t want to be a third wheel right now. He feels  _ grouchy. _

Maya and Stormzy are a given, of course. She’s donned a red, floor-length dress that shimmers in the light and his suit has gold accents that complement it (and that Maya  _ definitely _ picked out). They’ve made their home in the front room, Maya having brought out a camera to take pictures of all their guests, hundreds sure to be posted to Instagram by the weekend. 

He hasn’t found Greg yet, unfortunately, because Greg can be a refuge in these situations. Instead he’s left to weave through an ocean of guests he can only sort of recognize. There’s Jade and Perrie, former roommates, with their new roommates Leigh Anne and Jesy. There’s Greg’s station friends Nick and Scott and Chris and Annie (although Greg is still nowhere to be seen). He can see some guys that he vaguely recognizes as Louis’s friends and Liam’s soil buddies, and so very many people that he has  _ no _ clue who they are.

And Niall’s got his plaid suit on, the one he bought new this year, but he’s just  _ grouchy _ .

So he heads up the stairs to escape.

There’s someone in the loo at the top of the stairs, and as soon as Niall reaches the landing the door swings open, revealing a guy that Niall vaguely recalls seeing at a previous Classy Christmas, although he has no idea who’s friend he is. 

“Ah,” says the guy as he grabs the handle. “Sorry, hope I didn’t hit you with the door.” 

He’s got an… American accent? Something like that.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Niall says with a shrug. Well. This is awkward.

“Oh good,” the guy says. Niall notes that he has nice hair. Dark and wavy, but in a cool way. Not like Harry’s.

This exchange would have kept trundling along in a slow and awkward way, except for the sudden pounding of someone coming down the stairs from the attic floor.

“Oh, Niall!” Greg yells, seeing him. Niall notes that Greg seems to have lost the jacket from his suit. “Oh, and Shawn! Thank god. You guys have to help me.”

“We do?” Shawn asks.

“I don’t like this,” says Niall. 

“Yeah, come up here fast - I’ve got a raccoon trying to dig a hole into the wall and I need someone to hold the board as I hammer it into place.”

“You’ve got  _ what,” _ Niall says, his voice going flat. Still, he and Shawn are already following Greg up the stairs.

They follow him into the tiny little attic room that Greg and Harry share, and the scrabbling sounds soon become apparent. 

“There,” Greg says, and points to the far corner, right where the wall begins to slope. Sure enough, Niall frowns squints and can see little bits of the drywall beginning to give way, like a dam just beginning to leak.

“That’s a- a raccoon?” Shawn asks from beside him. “You have a raccoon in your wall?”

“Oh yeah,” Greg says. “We’ve got a whole family! But this one’s about to get through and we’re about to have a raccoon in our room, and honestly I don’t think it’ll be too easy to sleep with a family of raccoons in here.”

“I don’t know about that, Greg,” Niall says. “Harry would love them, you know.”

“Which is why Harry’s not up here now,” Greg says. He picks up a block of wood roughly a square foot and holds it out. “Which is also why this is going to go over the hole it’s making.”

“You just had a piece of wood laying around your room?” Shawn asks, looking puzzled. Clearly, Niall thinks, Shawn doesn’t know Greg  _ that  _ well. 

“Well it was originally sitting on top of my alarm clock, because otherwise it doesn’t go off,” Greg shrugs. “But I’ll get another one.”

Just then, the scrabbling of the raccoon is replaced with the sound of falling debris, as the hole gives way. Niall looks on in shock and horror as a whole piece of drywall falls, revealing an entire raccoon head, sticking through the hole and sniffing at its newfound environment.

“Shit, and there we go!” Greg says, jumping over the pile of stuffed animals that congregate between his and Harry’s beds, and slamming the board over place of the raccoon’s face. More drywall falls, and Niall worries that the entire wall is going to crumble in on itself, but besides the angry squeaking of the raccoon on the other side, it remains steady. 

“So uh,” Greg looks over his shoulder. “If one of you would like to hammer this in place while I hold it up, that would be just  _ stellar.” _

— 

The rest of the party feels a bit brighter after that. 

Maybe it’s the fact that Niall is one of three people who knows just how much of a disaster tonight could have been, had Greg not fallen asleep while getting ready. 

Maybe it’s because Evie, surprisingly, became the star of the show, dancing her heart out in the living room to the Christmas music and completely eating up the attention from the adults all around her, and therefore giving everyone who was worried about her getting lost in the crowd a second to breathe.

Probably it’s because Niall finds himself in a very unique situation with a boy that, well,  _ maybe _ he’s cute. And  _ maybe _ they talk on the porch for a few hours.

It isn’t a thing. But it’s a good night. 


	16. December 16th

Harry Edward Styles had begged his mum to let Louis William Tomlinson come with them on their summer trip.

Jay being best friends with Anne, it hadn’t taken  _ that _ much persuading. 

They’d taken the train up to a tiny cottage in a remote part of Scotland, where there wasn’t really hope of tanning but there was a beautiful lake that the fog rolled off in dense clouds in the morning, and the sun reflected off of in dazzling hues as it set. 

Most of the week was spent lazing around the cottage, binge watching shows on their surprisingly good WiFi and dipping their toes in the freezing cold water at the end of their private dock. 

Harry and Louis had hatched a plan together, feeling quite fancy about the whole thing. So, on the morning of their last day, at 5:50, Harry’s alarm sounded through their tiny bedroom where they shared a bunk bed. 

The sky was still completely dark outside as they got up and dressed, their eyes barely open in the early hours. They had planned to get up in time to go on the dock to watch the sun rise, like people do in all those fancy Instagram posts.

Harry had made coffee for both of them, pouring two mugs that they would have to be careful not to spill, since they didn’t have travel mugs. It was all going great right up until the moment when Harry slid open the glass door and then proceeded to walk  _ directly into the screen door, _ coffee first.

His coffee, thankfully, flew right through the screen and splattered on the porch, leaving a near empty mug in his hands and a stunned look on his face.

“What-”

Harry blinked.

“Oh my god,” said Louis.

“There was a  _ door there,” _ gasped Harry, realising what he had just walked into. “And it  _ took _ my  _ coffee!” _

They didn’t have time to wait for more to brew, so they headed down to the dock anyway, huddled together in the misty cool morning air.

They didn’t see the sunrise that day. It hadn’t occurred to either of them that it was likely to be overcast. At best, the sky lightened a little. It was very anticlimactic.

But Louis shared his mug with Harry and they watched the waters calmly lap against the dock for a while, before heading inside and falling asleep on the couch together for another four hours. 

— 

Harry hasn’t been able to sleep well since a raccoon busted a hole in his wall. 

So, you know, the last twelve hours. 

It’s just that he’s been able to hear the raccoons for a while now. They’ve been scrabbling and squeaking and rummaging and all those other raccoon things they like to do, and it’s been fine, because he’s been confident of the barrier erected between himself and them. The wall. It seemed like a good wall. He hit his head on it every morning when he woke up, so he knew how solid it was.

Except apparently maybe it wasn’t so solid.

Because a  _ whole ass raccoon _ apparently made a hole in it last night, and that is  _ not okay. _

Greg, on the other hand, is sleeping soundly. Greg is also the one when, having been informed that a bat had gotten into Liam and Maya and Bebe’s room, had asked for “a pair of gloves and a laundry basket” so he’s really just in his own category.

He lies awake, staring out the tall window next to him. He can feel the cold coming in off the window, it turns his nose pink and makes his eyes water. Greg at one point asked why he had the head of the bed so close to the window, but even with the way the cold seeps through, Harry loves it. He loves getting to see the stars on the nights he can’t sleep, and he loves waking up with the sun when he can (which is out the window in winter, of course). 

So now, it’s four in the morning and he’s looking up at the clouds in the sky and the gentle flakes falling past. It’ll be gone by morning, probably, but the magic of snow in the dead of night is a wonderful thing to take part in. Especially when the squeaking of little raccoon babies can be heard, alarming and concerning to anyone who wishes to not have entire generations of animals living inside their walls. 

Eventually, he sits up. He’s only been in bed for an hour, considering the last guests didn’t leave until almost three in the morning. Nick, Scott, Chris and Annie had successfully drunk the last of even their boxed wines, and Harry never did miss an excuse to hang out with Greg’s radio friends. They’d played Clubs Trump, sitting on the floor around the coffee table well after the room had otherwise emptied out, and the first game had ended when Scott had thrown down his cards and declared he was done, while Chris mocked him for being a sore loser. One person down, the second game had ended when Nick’s hand of cards had ended up in Annie’s wine glass. Everything had been recorded and was on the Instagram story of someone or other. Harry had been at least a little drunk then, a giggly mess as he dried the wine-soaked cards with fake snow, and he’s at least a little drunk now as he gets up and staggers down the stairs, feeling like he’s just not going to sleep any time soon anyway. 

Louis had gone to sleep around two, after more or less falling asleep on his feet, slumped against Harry as the two of them stood on the tiny back porch with Louis’s friends Oli and Calvin as they all bemoaned the coming of exams and Oli and Calvin talked about “Woman Troubles”. Louis laughed and teased them as they talked but he never spoke about his own love life. It both worried and soothed Harry’s heart, not hearing about anyone that Louis might be interested in. He doesn’t dare let the idea that Louis could like him back grow and blossom in his heart, because even if he does, something is stopping him from acting on those problems, which means Harry must be doing something wrong, and Harry can _ not _ let his thoughts go in that direction-

So he doesn’t. Or he tries not to, at least.

The ground floor is empty and silent, most of the lights are off, save for the ones on the porch, that shine through the windows and cast eerie shadows through the front two rooms. 

Harry picks his way over plastic wine glasses and red solo cups and small golden paper plates with the remains of hors d'oeuvres and biscuits. He pulls his pea coat from the rack - the one that Louis says makes his waist look curvy - and opens the front door to head onto the porch. 

The screen door still doesn’t have a screen in it, and in the cleaning for Classy Christmas it must have gotten moved to somewhere where it will probably become buried and lost forever. 

He walks onto the porch, closing the door most of the ways behind him, but not completely, because if it accidentally locked he’d have a hell of a time getting back inside.

The streetlight just in front of their house casts a yellow glow that mixes with the rainbow of Christmas lights on their porch. It’s bright enough to read a book out here, albeit with a bit of squinting at the longer words. The snow continues to fall, light and airy and barely dusting the ground.

Being a half double, the porch of their house is divided down the middle, separated by a brick wall only about two feet high. Harry’s own porch is deserted, which is probably why he doesn’t immediately notice that he’s not alone.

“Oh  _ shit,”  _ he says when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Whirling, he turns to find none other than Zayn sitting on one of the plastic chairs that adorn the porch of their neighbors. He’s smoking, draped in a huge black coat with a fur trimmed hood. 

Zayn looks up, clearly having noticed Harry already, and puts a hand up in greeting.

“Do you often smoke on our neighbors porch at four in the morning?” Harry asks. The wind whips around him and he pulls the collar of his coat up as he takes a seat on the brick barrier between the two porches. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “That would be fucked up,” he says. “Some Edward Cullen shit.”

“God it  _ sure would,” _ Harry says, grinning. 

Zayn takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette. “I lost my keys at some point during the party,” he says. 

Harry giggles. “You  _ didn’t!”  _ he says. “And you were just going to stay out here until morning?”

Zayn shrugs. “My phone’s dead,” he says. “And I didn’t want to freak you all out by knocking loud enough to wake you up. I know how crazy your roommates can get. I’ve seen Maya’s swords.”

“Oh, we’ve  _ all _ seen Maya’s swords,” Harry agrees sagely. 

They lapse into silence. It’s a late night, sleepy silence, blanketed in cold and cigarette smoke. Zayn lights another cigarette and Harry sticks his hands inside his coat to warm them. The snow falls on.

The pitter patter of little paws sounds, so very quietly, and Harry lights up as Thumbs jaunts up the steps to the porch, jumping up to join him on the brick barrier. 

“Hi baby,” Harry says. Thumbs blinks lazily at him, her one ear twitching in mild interest. She stands her two front paws on his calves and kneads, her claws digging in and making Harry wince. Being a polydactyl, she has extra claws. Harry is always acutely aware of this when she decides to knead.

Time feels like something left behind. The daytime and the sunlight and the flurry of loud voices that go with it feels aeons away. 

“I’m dropping out of university,” Zayn says. 

“What?” asks Harry. “Really?”

Zayn nods. “I can’t pass these classes,” he says. “I don’t want to take them again. I don’t think I could anyway.”

“That’s fair,” says Harry. He doesn’t know what to say, really. “Are you okay?”

Zayn breathes out, smoke swirling into the air. “No,” he says. 

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Zayn stubs out his cigarette. “I’m going to have to break up with Liam.”

Harry about snaps his neck to look over at him. “You’re not serious,” he says.

“Liam won’t marry someone without a degree,” Zayn says, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“That’s bullshit.”

“He  _ told  _ me.”

“It’s still bullshit.” Harry picks up Thumbs and settles her in his lap so that she’s sitting on her back haunches. “Liam loves you.”

“Liam is also  _ smart,” _ Zayn says. Harry’s not sure if that’s supposed to be an argument or not. It might just be something he’s saying because it’s true, and because he loves Liam.

“You love Liam,” Harry says.

Zayn doesn’t say anything. He pulls out another cigarette.

“If you give up on this relationship I  _ will _ hunt you down,” Harry says. “And I  _ will _ get revenge.”

It’s too early in the morning for him to come up with a witty sort of revenge on the spot, but he assumes the message still gets across.

“I’m not going to graduate,” Zayn reiterates. 

“That’s okay,” Harry says. “It’s not, like, a life requirement or something. It’s just a social construct.”

Zayn still looks unconvinced. Or at least, he looks sad. Downtrodden.

“Listen,” Harry says. “Liam loves you and I think if you break up with him I might need to, like, kill you or something. So you’ve gotta promise me you’re going to at least be a normal human being and tell him what’s going on in your life.”

Harry stretches, feeling world-weary. Suddenly his eyes are having trouble staying open. “I’m going to go back to bed,” he says. “But you’re going to come inside and sleep on our couch, because I can’t stand the idea of you chain smoking on our porch until the sun rises, that’s like some dumb poetic shit.” He scratches Thumbs under her chin one last time before removing her from his lap. 

Harry leaves him there and walks inside, but he stays downstairs until Zayn eventually finishes smoking and follows him in. He still looks sad, pathetically so, but as long as he talks to Liam Harry knows they’ll be fine. Liam wouldn’t just let him go. 


	17. December 17th

Liam James Payne and Zayn Javadd Malik once took a road trip to visit Liam’s grandparents for the day. 

They’d taken Liam’s beat up old BMW that didn’t have air con, and was technically a convertible but you had to take down and put up the hood by hand, and also neither door opened without a lot of help, so Liam generally kept the windows down so that they could hop over and into the car. 

Also, if it started raining and any rain got on the underside of the car, it would stop running.

But it was a  _ family car, _ a gift from his parents after they had gotten a newer model, and Liam was going to use it until it literally didn’t run any longer.

So they’d set off, with the top down and the windows down, on an especially warm August day. They’d also made it a good ten minutes out of town when they ended up having to slow down.

And slow down further.

And then more or less stop.

Because a police car was up in front, the man getting out and holding his hand up at traffic as a procession turned from another road onto their road.

It looked like a funeral procession. To this day, Liam doesn’t know who it was. What he does know is that they must have been important, because Liam and Zayn followed that procession, who unfortunately seemed to be going in the direction of Liam’s grandparents’ house, for  _ an hour and a half. _

It would have been only a fifteen or twenty minute journey, but for an hour and a half they crawled along, the hot summer sun only growing hotter, and no shade or water. They spent long stretches in silence, a comfortable-if-rather-annoyed-at-the-circumstances silence, and sometimes they spoke about school or work or just what Zayn should expect when meeting Liam’s family.

An hour and a half went by, slow and tedious, and by the time they got to Liam’s grandparents’ house, his grandfather had already left to deliver food to the new parents down the street. Liam’s grandmother, however, had taken one look at Zayn and said, “Oh good gracious,  _ no.” _

And for a split second Liam worried that his grandmother was terribly racist and he had had no idea.

But then she took Zayn by the arm and hurried him down the hall, with Liam following nervously behind, and into the loo, where she searched her cabinets.

“That burn is only going to get worse if you don’t put something on it,” she said to him. “Now don’t be afraid to use up this whole jar of ointment - Dougie used to go through bucketloads of this stuff back when he was farming in the garden and forgot himself. It’ll help to head it off at the pass, I can tell you that much!”

And that was how Liam and Zayn both realised that Zayn had developed the worst sunburn either of them had ever seen, bubbling, tender and red down his arm, from sitting in the car in the hot sun as the procession moved, with one arm hanging outside the car as he held the cigarette as far from Liam as possible. 

Liam’s grandparents were just as wonderful to Zayn as they were to Liam, and when they slept in the attic that night, in little twin beds opposite each other under a slanting roof, Liam spent about two minutes worrying when Zayn laid down facing the wall instead of him.

But then Zayn said,  _ “Fuck, _ this sunburn is a  _ bitch _ and makes me feel ridiculous,” which was when Liam realised that if Zayn laid facing him he’d be laying on his blistering red arm.

And then he laughed at Zayn’s pain. 

— 

Final exams. 

_ Final exams. _

Final exams start today, and Liam has gotten almost no sleep because he’s been studying at every waking opportunity, and there are many more of those opportunities when you are never asleep to start with. 

He’s jittery and nervous and feels sort of weird, like he’s in a dream and everything is a little fuzzy, but he only has one final today and it’s on Soil Principles and after that he can spare about four hours to sleep which should be more than enough to get him through until tomorrow. 

He’s repeating latin prefixes in his head and going over the four principles of soil hierarchy as he walks to campus, taking a break only long enough to respond to a text from Bebe saying that yes, of course he’ll watch Evie this afternoon while she takes an exam.

Okay, so he’ll only get two hours of sleep. That’s fine. He’s fine. He’s got too much to do, oh  _ god _ why did he let himself be present for so much of Classy Christmas? Why didn’t he sequester himself in his room at the star, and head it off at the pass? This is why Christmas traditions are terrible, they  _ interfere. _ They take a perfectly good weekend and they give it  _ anxiety. _

Right. Soil principles. Latin suffixes. Three days and he can sleep until Christmas. Maybe then he can convince Zayn to bring pizza and ice cream. And wine. It’ll be their own little Christmas party before Zayn heads home for Christmas. That’s what they’ve done the last few years.

(Which does  _ not _ make it a Christmas tradition, he reminds himself, because they can stop any time). 

— 

Two hours in a Soil Principles exam. A twenty five minutes walk back home. Watching Evie for two hours while Bebe takes her own exam. Evie spending approximately an hour and a half of that time deciding to build a castle out of the VHS tapes that they own (because they were  _ cheap, _ as Maya has explained so many times, never mind the fact that they’re on their fourth VHS player in as many months because they’re all so ancient).

The second that Bebe is home, Liam unloads Evie onto her (Evie wants dinosaur chicken nuggets), and heads up to his room. He’ll study for an hour, sleep for two hours, and then study until morning. 

Zayn hasn’t texted much today, but that tends to happen at cram time so Liam shoots him a quick text that he’s studying and might not be able to respond much and then gets to work. Generally he would shove his phone in a drawer so as to not distract him, but before he does a message comes through.

**Zayn:** _Have you slept?_

**Liam:** _ Enough. I’m going to sleep for two hours and then I’ll pull an all-nighter _

**Zayn:** _ No _ _   
_ **Zayn:** _ Try again _

**Liam:** _ It’s just for the next two days _ _   
_ **Liam:** _ I won’t die of sleep deprivation in two days _

**Zayn:** _ I know for a fact u have been doing this for almost a week _

**Liam:** _ I’m fine _ _   
_ **Liam:** _ And after all of this is over we should watch Forrest Gump _

**Zayn:** _ Of course _ _   
_ **Zayn:** _ Whatever you want _ _   
_ **Zayn:** __ But only if you get more sleep

Liam rolls his eyes and shoots off another disagreeing text before shutting his phone away. Soil. Revising. Graduating with the highest honours so that he can get a job in the United Nations and make real change.

— 

Words and phrases and definitions repeat themselves in Liam’s mind as he groggily realises that he must have fallen asleep. He didn’t set an alarm, did he…? Did he fall asleep on purpose? He doesn’t think he did, but…

Liam blinks his eyes open. The room is dim and he realises that someone is on his bed with him, rubbing soothing strokes down his back.

“Zayn…?” he asks, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Zayn shushes him, running a hand through his hair. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly. “I’ll wake you up to study later.

Generally Liam would see this for the lie it is, but he’s too far gone at this point. Instead his eyes close again, and he sighs as he snuggles in against Zayn’s familiar weight, his familiar smell. 

His Zayn.


	18. December 18th

When Louis William Tomlinson was six years old and Harry Edward Styles was three, the Tomlinson’s dog ate all their Christmas oranges.

(This was something Louis didn’t actually learn until years later).

They had been at their grandparents’ house all day on Christmas Eve, celebrating Louis’s birthday as well as Christmas, and had come home late into the evening, Lottie already sound asleep in her mother’s arms while Louis skipped along, on a continual sugar rush from a day’s worth of Christmas treats.

Jay had put Lottie to bed and ushered Louis into a quick bath and then into his room, telling him that even if he wasn’t sleepy yet, he had to go to bed because otherwise Santa would never come.

Then she’d gone to set out the presents.

She’d dragged out the ones for under the tree first, hidden under the towels in the closet because Louis could sniff out presents like candy and he wouldn’t hesitate to tear into them.

After carefully placing them around the tree she’d gone to fill the stockings. Traditionally, she liked to put only one small present and an orange in each, because Christmas oranges were a tradition her family growing up had always done as well, and even when she didn’t have much money for presents, she could always spare a bit for two oranges.

This year, though, when she went to grab the oranges from the pantry, she found to her horror that someone had beaten her to it. Ted, their brand new puppy, was lying on the kitchen floor with a full belly and three half-eaten oranges around him (along with two untouched apples).

“Oh Ted,” Jay had sighed. Louis must have let him out while she was putting Lottie to bed.

After cleaning up the mess and depositing Ted back in his crate (and calling the emergency vet to make sure he’d be okay), she stopped and thought about what to do next. Her children needed those oranges - or at least, she wanted her children to have them. It was a special part of Christmas morning, and one she didn’t want to forgo just because Ted had gone and eaten their presents.

She wasn’t about to call the parents she had just left to come watch them, they weren’t anywhere near close enough for it to be convenient, but she knew her best friend might be up to help out.

She had just been hoping that Anne or Des would be willing to come over and watch the house while she ran to the local Tesco before they closed, but the Styles family did her one better. After assuring her multiple times that it was all fine, Des, who had picked up the landline, was the one to go out and do the searching.

Des was one of the few people Jay knew with a car phone, which meant that he called right away after the first Tesco. “All out here, I’m afraid,” he had informed her.

Then he’d gone to the next Tesco Express, and reported the same.

After that, he’d resorted to Sainsbury’s. Still nothing.

Des had searched every store in town that was still open, even after Jay had begun assuring him each time that this was _too much_ that he was doing for them, and he should be at home with his family.

(“The kids are in bed,” he had said. “And you’d do the same for Anne in a heartbeat”).

When he’d eventually gone home, after profuse thanks from Jay for everything, it was only about ten minutes before she heard a knock on her door.

There Anne was, when she opened it, with two orange halves in her hands.

“I split them,” she had said, with the biggest smile on her face. “Harry and Gemma won’t question getting orange halves instead of whole ones. This way we all win.”

Jay had hugged her, tears gathering in her eyes, and Anne had laughed and said happy Christmas. There were few things so good in the world in that moment.

And Louis and Lottie hadn’t questioned their half oranges the next morning, they had slurped them and made proper messes as always and it had been a perfectly happy Christmas morning.

—

Christmas is a week away and Louis _isn’t ready._

He doesn’t have _presents_ yet! The few that he does have certainly aren’t _wrapped!_ He’s going to arrive back home with empty arms his sisters will be lucky if they get a makeup brush a piece at the rate he’s going. The only day he’s managed to get some Christmas shopping done was that day with Harry, and even then he wasn’t able to get his hands on much. Plus, that meant he hasn’t been able to get anything _for_ Harry yet.

The problem is _exams._ The second of three days of exams, and Louis is about the only one who’s not stuck in a hole of textbooks and term papers. It’s not that he doesn’t _care_ about exams, it’s just that, well, he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and he figures it’s too late to learn it now!

Unfortunately for him, the fact that he doesn’t have a car means that this isn’t benefiting him much. The closest shopping centre is technically just on the edge of within walking distance, but he doesn’t much think that he could carry anything heavy back with him, and with the amount of siblings - not to mention roommates - to buy for, that’s going to be a problem. He’ll do it if he has to, but if there are other options…

 **Lou-is-blou:** _Anyone done with exams yet?_

 **OhNoNiall:** _Nope_

 **GREGORYHELLO:** _Nah mate I’ve got one more tomorrow_

 **Baby Bebe:** _No_

 **Harry-bo:** _I wish :(_

 **Maya Pa-Jama:** _Yes but if you ask me to do something you’re getting glared at MY WEDDING IS ON SATURDAY_

 **Lou-is-blou:** _ >:( _

Louis will _never_ give in to online shopping, but days like this sure does make it appealing.

 _Alright, fine._ He’ll just have to _do this himself._

Louis dons his coat boots - the snow from earlier in the week has stuck around on the pavement just enough for things to be a bit icy and uncomfortable. He sticks his wallet in his back pocket and grabs his iPod Nano, hitting shuffle on his Christmas playlist.

The walk to the shopping centre takes him almost an hour, but once he’s there he loses himself in finding the perfect gift for everyone. Louis isn’t often alone - he loves people! He loves having so many roommates because there’s _always_ someone around to pay attention to him, and he loves going home because as the _eldest_ he’s definitely the _most special and important_ and his younger sisters, save for Lottie, all look up to him.

It means that he gets very little alone time, and when he does he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Going from store to store he keeps getting really excited about gifts and then just a little deflated when there’s no one around to show them to. Still, he thinks about his family’s expressions come boxing day when they finally open them and he feels satisfied as he adds them to his bag.

Fizzy and Lottie get makeup brushes because Louis knows _shit_ about actual makeup, but he knows they can always use more brushes. Phoebe and Daisy get fancy herbal teas because they like pretending they’re grown up and fancy bringing their tumblers to school. For his mum, peppermint tea because she’s constantly complaining about an upset stomach with this latest pregnancy and some fancy bath things that the woman at the Lush store pointed out - he has no idea what they’re for but they definitely smell good.

He gets little things for each of his roommates too, although he’s about run himself out of funds at this point. And Harry… well, he’s still looking for something for Harry.

By the time he’s done, the sun has set, the battery on his Nano has died, and his arms are laden down for the slow trip home through the cold. He leaves the shopping centre in high spirits, and continues on that way for about half an hour, at which point he begins to feel a bit bogged down… a bit tired…

A bit… lost.

“Oh shit,” Louis says, as he begins to realise that _nothing_ around him looks familiar. He’s probably inside his own neighborhood _somewhere,_ because all the row houses and half doubles have a similar look, but at the same time… Oh shit.

This is one of those times where he thinks how _useful_ having a cell phone would be. Being able to pull out a map and track his location. He could be just a block or two over from his own house, for all he knows.

Instead he pulls out his phone, flips it open, and dials Harry’s number.

 _“Hello?”_ asks Harry when he picks up. He sounds like he was napping, his voice even lower than usual.

“Harryyyyy,” Louis whines. “I’m _lost,_ please come find me!”

On the other end of the line, Harry snorts. _“What’s your nearest road sign?”_ he asks.

Louis looks around, down to the end of the block. “Pacemont?” he asks, trying to read by the light of the streetlamps.

_“Oh my god, Lou, that’s miles from us! How did you do that?”_

Louis pouts, and makes that pout clear in his voice. “I bad with directions!” he whines. “Please, _pretty please_ pick me up?”

 _“Already on my way,”_ Harry says. _“Text me the address of the house you’re in front of, I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”_

“Okay,” Louis says, letting his voice go all pathetic. “Can you bring tea too?”

Harry outright laughs at that. _“No, we don’t have any water ready! I’ll ask Bebe to put the kettle on before I go, you can have some when we get home.”_

“Thank you,” Louis says. “You’re lovely and wonderful and I love you.”

Harry stutters a bit, and then goes, _“I’ll see you there,”_ and hangs up. Louis sits himself at the end of the pavement and waits for his savior.


	19. December 19th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's failing-school-anxiety in this one, after the flashback. If that's tough on you, you can skip the second half of this chapter and/or hit CTRL/CMD+F for "welcome home" to skip it

When Zayn Javadd Malik and Liam James Payne lived together for exactly two and a half days, it went wonderfully and terribly.

It had been summer, between one lease ending and another beginning, and Zayn had found himself homeless for three days. 

Liam, of course, had been willing to offer a room before Zayn had even posed the question. They hadn’t been dating very long at that point, and he still didn’t know Liam’s roommates very well (although they all seemed to know him, the way they all waved and smiled when they saw him on campus, and the way they gave knowing, sly looks when they walked in on Zayn and Liam together on the couch.

Still, he was surprised when each of Liam’s roommates pretty much immediately agreed that no, it would be no issue for Zayn to move in every one of his things for half a week. 

So he did.

Each and every one of his tall and cumbersome canvasses, with anywhere from pencil outlines to oil paintings splashed across them, were brought to rest in the front room. His messy containers used to store clothes were piled next to them, his bed frame brought in and left against the wall in the hallway, but his mattress was dragged up to the second floor next to Liam’s (which of Liam’s roommates did that, Zayn wasn’t at all sure, since he and Liam had both agreed he would simply take the couch).

In a twist of fate either unfortunate or convenient, for these two and a half days Liam was home with the flu. 

“Can you go down to the shop on the corner and pick up dinner?” Liam had asked him, while lying in bed looking terribly pathetic, as Zayn sketched on the mattress next to him. “I don’t have anything at all in the pantry at this point, was going to go shopping yesterday.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn had said, putting aside his art supplies and standing. “Do you need lemsip or anything?”

Liam had shaken his head, looking like he was half asleep already.

“Alright babe,” Zayn had said. “I’m on it, don’t worry about a thing.”

When he was two blocks away he had gotten a text from Liam;

**Liam:** _ Nothing weird!!!! Just normal food like soup or something!!! _

Zayn had pocketed his phone without replying. Who did Liam think he was? Some  _ amateur? _

Forty or so minutes later, he arrived back at Liam’s (and his temporary) home, letting himself in with the key Harry had lent him - the one with a kitten face on it. 

Liam had apparently decided he was well enough to be up and moving around, because he was sitting bundled in blankets on the couch, with his water science textbook on his lap.

“Hey,” Liam had croaked, smiling up at him. 

“Hello sicky,” Zayn had said, putting down the bags he was carrying to feel Liam’s forehead. It was still pretty warm.

“What’d you get?” Liam had asked, reaching over and pulling one of the bags towards him. “What’s- oh Zayn.”

Zayn had smiled. He had smiled very wide. He had put his collar in his mouth to try to hide his smile.

“Oh my god Zayn, there’s  _ five of these boxes.” _

“It’ll make you feel better.”

“Zayn there’s not even enough room in the freezer for  _ one _ of these boxes!”

“Which is why tonight we  _ feast,” _ Zayn had said, and with that he carried his six boxes of frozen waffles into the kitchen. 

And that was the last time Liam had let him buy groceries unsupervised.

— 

It’s the last day of exams. The last day to turn in anything for any hope of a grade. The final hour, as it were.

Zayn sits on the floor of his flat with a huge tub of brand new gesso and paints over every single one of his class paintings. Every painting that left him feeling uninspired, empty, apathetic. 

He feels gross about it. Every second ticking away feels like another second he could have used trying to salvage his grade. Another second wasted. But he also feels like this is what he  _ should _ be doing. It feels right. It feels like the last push to something resembling freedom. 

Most of the canvasses need multiple coats. Even with the thick, almost industrial-grade gesso, they need layers to hide their past lives. Become new. 

The painting for Maya is finished and pushed up against the wall, the one stroke of colour in his room at the moment. It’s beautiful, and it’s like nothing he’s ever done before, but it meant more to him to do than every school assignment put together. 

He paints and he paints and the layers grow thicker, obscuring everything that’s felt like cement blocks on his chest since the semester began. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain this to anyone, or what he’s supposed to do next. 

Exams are going on right now, and Liam’s last exam doesn’t even start until seven. Zayn paints and he tries to forget. He paints because he still feels scared, and he paints again until every canvas is empty and ready for something new. 

The windows are open because this much paint is a doozy, on canvasses almost as tall as he is. It’s not snowing, the sky is bright and empty, and Zayn wishes it were. He wishes there was snow because at least then it could feel a bit like Christmas. 

It’s a shock when he runs out of canvasses.

He paces for a moment, doesn’t know what to do with himself, and decides it’s time to get out of the flat. Being alone doesn’t sound like a good option right now, he doesn’t want to just listen to his thoughts on loop for the rest of the day. 

So he walks to the house at E. Redwood.

Before he even knocks, the door opens, and Evie’s face peeks through the hole where the screen in the screen door should be. 

“Hello,” she says. “Welcome home.”

“This isn’t my home,” Zayn tells her. 

“Yes it is,” Evie says. “It’s your home when you’re here!”

It’s almost logical.

“Can I come in?” Zayn asks, leaning down a bit to get more on her level. 

Evie thinks for a minute. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”

“No, Evie!” Zayn heard Harry from inside the house. “You’re supposed to close the door on him!”

“But he’s  _ nice,” _ Evie whines. “You’re only supposed to do that if they’re  _ mean!” _

Zayn lets himself in while she’s distracted, carefully stepping over her. 

“Hello Zayn,” Harry says from the living room. “Would you like to wrap presents with me? I can make you hot chocolate.”

“I don’t have any presents,” Zayn says.

“That’s okay,” Harry promises him. “You can hold the tape.”

Which is how Zayn finds himself holding the small plastic scotch tape dispenser, as Harry wraps a mountain of Christmas presents and  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ plays in the background. 

Evie is wrapping her own presents, apparently. Her own presents are the couch cushions.

“Today’s the last day of exams,” Harry says eventually.

“Yeah,” says Zayn. “Did you finish?”

“Early this morning,” Harry says. “You done?”

“With what?” Zayn asks, feigning ignorance.

Harry looks up at him and gives him a knowing look. “Have you talked to Liam yet?”

“You know he’s still in exams, I couldn’t do that to him.”

“He’d want to know,” Harry says. “You’re making this a big deal when it’s not. He loves you.”

“And I love him,” Zayn says.

“And I’m  _ done!” _ Evie declares, putting a wrapped cushion on the table.

“That’s beautiful, Evie,” Harry says, his voice much less serious. “How about the remote? Can you wrap that one too?”

Evie takes the remote and a whole roll of tape. 

“I think you’re being ridiculous,” Harry goes back to saying. “But it’s your relationship. I just think the sooner you talk to him the sooner you can go back to normal. Do you know what you’re going to do now? Are you gonna go job hunting?”

Zayn shrugs. “No clue. I don’t know anything.”

“You don’t know  _ what’s next,” _ Harry clarifies. “You know plenty of things.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, which is why you should say it.” Harry takes a piece of tape from him. “Say that you don’t know what’s next.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what’s next.”

“Now say that Liam loves you.”

“I don’t-”

“Say that Liam loves you.”

“Liam loves me.”

“Now say that it’ll all be okay.”

“Why are you so-”

_ “Say it.” _

Zayn hesitates. “It’ll all be okay.”

“Good,” says Harry. “Now your new life assignment is to keep saying that, because it’s the truth.”

“When did you become an ancient sage on a mountain top?”

“About the time that Liam started making me tell myself truths,” Harry says. “He’s pretty smart. You should try talking to him.”

Zayn gives him a look.

“But also probably not tonight, because we both know he’s going to be dead on his feet as soon as he walks through that door. So you should stay over tonight and like. Make him breakfast in bed or something romantic like that tomorrow.”

“You ever consider giving any of this advice to yourself? Make Louis breakfast in bed sometime.”

Harry frowns. “I… I do,” he says.

“I’m not at all surprised,” Zayn says. “Why do you sound surprised?”

Harry stares at the neatly wrapped package in his hands. “I dunno I… am I that obvious, Zayn? He doesn’t know, does he?”

Oh, this is a minefield Zayn did not expect to be hit with. “I think he… might,” he says. 

“Should I back off?” Harry asks, looking almost frantic now. “Should I be trying to hide it better?”

“Oh absolutely not,” Zayn says. “You’re a couple of idiots and if you back off I will personally come to this house and lock you two in a room together.”

Harry doesn’t meet his eye. “Why hasn’t he asked me out?” he asks, voice small.

Zayn doesn’t hesitate in his answer for that one. “You’re supposed to figure this shit out yourselves,” he says. “But it’s for the same reason you haven’t. Just fucking talk to him.”

“I talk to him  _ every day,” _ Harry wails, sitting back against the couch. “And I  _ love him. _ And I just - I don’t want to  _ expect _ anything to happen, but Zayn I  _ want it to! _ Is it so bad to want that?”

“Of course not,” Zayn says, not having the slightest clue what to do now. “It’s good to want that! Because he fucking wants it too!”

“He  _ doesn’t!”  _ Harry sobs. Zayn sees Evie staring at him in fear. That’s another issue. “If he  _ liked me _ he wouldn’t have said all that stuff about wanting me to back off!”

_ “When?” _ Zayn asks, exasperated.  _ “When _ on  _ earth  _ did he say that?” 

“When- when we were in school together! On the first day!”

“Oh for  _ fuck’s sake, _ Harry!” Zayn has  _ no _ clue how to physically comfort him, so he just puts a hand on the only body part he can reach - Harry’s ankle. “You were  _ kids!  _ He was  _ awkward! _ He talks all the time about what an awkward teenager he was! That’s not who he is now! I’m making you  _ tea!” _

He stands and leaves in a huff because  _ Christ  _ how are people so  _ stupid  _ sometimes? Flipping the kettle on, he moves around the kitchen like it’s his own, and comes back only ten minutes later with a teacup and tea brewing, because he is  _ not _ cut out for emotional comfort, hell, that’s why he and Liam are a perfect match!

… Liam. Oh, Liam. 

Harry’s eyes are red, but he takes the tea that Zayn offers him. “Sorry,” he says, hoarsely.

“Don’t be  _ sorry, _ for  _ fuck’s sake, _ just  _ talk _ to him,” Zayn says.

“I will if you will,” Harry replies. 

“Will you actually?”

Harry pauses, long, to actually think about it. “Yeah,” he says. “Fine. I will if you will.”

“Fine,” says Zayn.

“Fucks sake,” says Evie. 


	20. December 20th

When Niall James Horan and Bebe Bleta Rexha briefly shared a room, they did not get along.

Sure, they respected each other as people. Niall didn’t mind having Bebe around or hearing what she had to say. Bebe seemed intelligent and fun and Niall saw absolutely nothing wrong with her. As far as he could tell, she felt the same about him. That was in no way the issue.

The issue was that Bebe got up at 5:30 every morning to go to the gym before her first class, while Niall didn’t have to be anywhere until nine. Also, Niall had a bad habit of going out drinking late at night and therefore not going to bed until the wee hours of the morning.

Niall could tell Bebe hated this, as she always woke up just enough to shoot death glares at him.

He also was not too pleased with Bebe when she woke him up just hours after he’d finally gone to sleep, and most of the time he was definitely still at least a little drunk.

It had been a rocky way to start a friendship, and it came to a head one day when Niall came to bed late only to realise he had an assignment that was due before class started, which he was nowhere near finished with.

He had grabbed his computer out from under his bed and turned it on, turning the brightness on the screen down to its lowest setting. Still, Bebe shifted in her sleep. 

When he typed in his password she moved again.

When he pulled up Photoshop she rolled over and said, her voice husky and low, “Can’t you do that  _ somewhere else?” _

Niall should have taken a moment to check himself before answering. He did not. 

“You’ll wake me up in a few hours anyway,” he had said. “Let’s call it even.”

The look Bebe had leveled him with could have iced over a volcano. 

They didn’t speak for a week after that, moving around each other in stiff, awkward formalities. 

Fortunately, two weeks after that the rooming situation changed, because Greg’s friend Nick needed a temporary home. It did become a little easier at that point.

Neither of them were good at apologies; anyone in the house would be quick to point out that they’re the two that hold grudges the longest. But when Bebe broke it off with her then-boyfriend, Niall felt a camaraderie there. And a few days after that, when she had called him from the one and only lesbian-bar-slash-gyro-restaurant in the area terrifically drunk saying she’d just made out with three girls and one guy she had initially thought was a girl and would Niall please come pick her up, Niall considered it a bonding moment.

They weren’t destined to be the closest ones in the house, but they had each other’s backs.

— 

Niall and Bebe sit at the corner booth in Old Sloopy’s with two plates of chips and a melting bowl of ice cream. The ice cream - vanilla - belongs to Evie, who is currently making her way around the near-empty American-style diner. She’s been “sneaky sneaking” around to every window, peering out of it, and then running to the next one as if there were a sniper outside lining up the shot. Or perhaps she’s hiding from a bear. Niall doesn’t know how children’s minds work.

Campus is already nearly empty and exams only ended yesterday. People clear out fast, though, especially this close to Christmas. The house at E. Redwood is the exception, it seems, since everyone made an effort to stay in town through Saturday to attend Maya and Stormzy’s wedding. 

“This is going to be the worst thing,” Bebe says, popping a chip into her mouth. “I don’t know what Maya expected, putting her roommates in charge of her bachelorette party.”

“Are guys even supposed to attend a hen do?” Niall asks, his eyes following Evie as she ducks under a booth. “I thought that was only for girls. Does she expect us to all leave?”

“No, she definitely wants everyone there,” Bebe says. “You’re just going to have to endure a lot of fake dicks. I’m so sorry.”

Niall shrugs. “I’ve seen my own, I’ve seen them all.”

“That’s not a saying.”

“Doesn’t matter. Do we have a plan? Are we going out for drinks?”

“I wish,” Bebe says. “No, she wants a night at home. Just the seven of us and a large number of plastic penises.”

“That’s a nightmare. That sounds like a  _ literal  _ nightmare I’ve had.”

“It brings up a problem, though,” Bebe says. “Because there’s no way in hell that I’m letting Evie near that party.”

“Good!” Niall says. “I call watching Evie!”

“That’s what Liam said too,” Bebe says, cracking a grin. “The two of you can take turns.”

“We can do it together-”

“You can  _ take turns _ because we want this to be  _ fun for Maya,  _ and you know how she loves a crowd. I’m buying the stuff for margs and gin and tonics after this, and I put Harry in charge of penises.”

“You-” Niall puts his face in his hands. “You put  _ the worst person on that? _ You do know Harry won't even watch  _ The Inbetweeners _ because he’s too embarrassed seeing another guy’s tree and baubles.”

“Of course I know that,” Bebe says. “Why do you think I did it?”

“You’re terrible,” Niall says. “I respect that about you.”

“I tried Liam first but he point blank refused. Didn’t even give me a chance.”

“That’s fair,” Niall says.

“Anyway, so you’ve got the plan?” Bebe pulls her phone out and unlocks it. “All I need is for you to supply the games. Something dirty but not so dirty that we’re cleaning the floor. I remember when we threw the last bachelorette, and I do  _ not _ want to spend hours cleaning bleu cheese dressing out of the curtains again.”

“I’ve got the plan,” Niall says. “The plan is that Liam and I whisk Evie away so that neither of us have to drink out of penis straws or look at inflatable dicks that will scar us for life.”

“Wrong,” says Bebe. “And the inflatable ones have faces on them. It’ll be fun. And scarring. But we’ll all be scarred together.”


	21. December 21st

Back in early summer, Harry Edward Styles and Louis William Tomlinson had sat on the porch during a heavy storm and watched the lightning streak across the sky.

It had been a spring of light drizzle after light drizzle, and it seemed to have all been building up to this terrific, thundering, powerful storm. 

Harry had learned from Louis the value of a good storm. They’d sit on their small, covered porch in all manners of weather with tea in their mugs and blankets under them and watch the show that nature put on. 

This storm had been the nastiest one Harry had ever sat down to watch. He sat with Louis on the edge of the steps, just past the curtain of rain pouring down, and watched the greenish tint in the sky, the lightning that burst in powerful flashes every few minutes and the thunder that rolled through like the marching of an army.

They’d huddled together as the late spring winds whipped about and sprayed their faces in mist and watched as Thumbs’s cat house blew away down the alley (it had been gone before they’d even stepped outside, the storm already well under way).

Thumbs herself had appeared long after rivers of water had begun forming in the road. She waded through the puddles like they weren’t even there, and made it clear that she was in no hurry as the padded up the steps to them on soggy wet paws, her fur clinging and bedraggled and making her look much smaller than normal. 

She’s gotten Harry and Louis both terribly soaked, too - choosing to plop herself down directly on Harry’s lap and then wagging her tail in wet,  _ thwap _ -ing motions against Louis’s side.

The storm had knocked the power out for two days and felled two trees on their street alone. It had been great storm-watching, though, and Harry looked back on it fondly. 

— 

“There’s a storm coming,” Louis says, looking at his phone. “They keep calling it the  _ polar vortex. _ ”

“Didn’t we have one of those a few years ago?” Harry asks, standing on the back of the couch and taping up bright pink streamers to the ceiling between the Christmas lights.

“Probably. Seems like the kind of thing they’d say we were getting every year.”

Harry looks outside. There’s fat flakes falling, the grey sky still light. “I hope Thumbs isn’t going to freeze,” he says. 

“She’s lived through the winter before,” Louis reassures him. “Several times, in fact. She’s not smart but she does have those animal instincts.”

“Those animal instincts that almost got her carried away in the rain last spring,” Harry points out. “Same as those animal instincts she had in the fall where she decided to catch the fly paper we’d hung outside and then spent all afternoon cutting out of her fur.”

“Right,” says Louis. “Those instincts.”

Harry snorts. “Hand me another streamer,” he says. 

— 

Evie is not allowed downstairs under  _ any circumstances, _ and she has taken this as a direct challenge.

Harry’s spot that he has worked  _ very _ hard to claim for the party is just on the edge of the couch, nearest the hallway that leads upstairs and to the kitchen. That means that he’s often the first to see when Evie’s managed to sneak her way downstairs again.

For the third time since the party’s begun, he looks over and finds Evie at the top of the stairs, looking down through the railing and giggling at how sneaky she’s clearly being.

Harry makes eye contact with her and shakes his head, showing her that she’s been caught. 

She pretends she doesn’t see him.

He sends a text to Niall as she begins to sneak her way down the stairs again, and can tell as soon as Niall receives it, because he briefly appears at the top of the stairs as well and Evie makes a very teenager-sounding  _ “UGGGHHHH” _ as she stomps back up the stairs. 

Harry snorts as he turns back to the party at hand. She’s so dramatic. 

Apparently Harry wasn’t fast enough in volunteering to watch Evie, since Niall and Liam had already claimed that spot. That apparently made three roommates who weren’t a big fan of the excessive dicks decorating their living room. 

(Buying them yesterday had been nightmare enough! Harry’s gay, he loves a dick in theory, but surrounded by a vast number of plastic dick-imitations? He can’t handle that. This is a terrible experience).

So now, with her five roommates sitting around the living room (and Niall upstairs) and Maya in the place of honor, the room is decked out with bright pink streamers, pink plastic cocktail glasses (where the bottoms come off when you’re picking them up if you’re not careful) with tiny penis straws (which had to be cut shorter to fit in the cocktail glasses - it wasn’t well planned out), and a myriad of other… themed items. It’s a jarring clash against the Christmas decorations.

They’ve already finished a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey with, well, appropriate changes. Maya’s also just about done guessing the Lingerie Line game - where everybody bought her a piece of lingerie meant to “represent themselves” and she had to guess who was who.

Harry’s not at all sure how, but she’s gotten all of them right. 

He’s still a little worried about the next game - the one that he  _ knows _ involves cucumbers - but Niall promised him there would only be three games to suffer through and then it would just be a night of drinking and watching  _ Rocky Horror _ (which, to the confusion of absolutely everyone, is Liam’s second favourite movie). 

“Alright, last game!” Bebe says as Maya cackles at her victory - six out of six lacey undergarments guessed correctly.

“For this game we’re not taking volunteers because we  _ know _ exactly who would volunteer,” she shoots Greg a look, who grins unabashedly. “So instead we’re rolling dice.” 

She produces a six sided die from who-knows-where. “Maya’s playing of course so we’re not counting her. For the rest of you, count off!”

They do, Bebe first, numbering themselves one to five. Harry feels anxious. He really shouldn’t. This is just a dumb game with his closest friends and whatever it is, it won’t be  _ that _ humiliating because he won’t be doing it alone, but still. He’s always been way too easily embarrassed, and this whole night of seeing dicks everywhere he looks - from the drinks to the tiara Maya’s wearing - have kept his cheeks flaming and his eyes on the floor. He  _ has _ one of those, he shouldn’t feel like this. But it could be a bit because he’s also been sat right next to Louis since this all began and it’s just- 

It’s just a lot.

“Alright, bitches,” Bebe says, shaking the die in her hand. “Let’s go! We’ve got three cucumbers so three players. Maya’s the first one, then we’ve got…” She rolls it onto the coffee table. “Four!”

“Yessssss,” Greg says, punching the air.

“Alright calm down, weirdo.” Bebe grabs the die again and rolls it. “It’s- oh shit, it’s gone off the table. Okay, it’s- number one!”

Ah fuck. Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“Me,” Harry says, although everyone probably already knew that.

“This’ll be good for you,” Greg says. “Force some of that embarrassment out of you, it’s about time.”

Harry knows that he  _ could _ turn it down. He could go upstairs and hang out with Niall and Evie and only get a light ribbing from his roommates. He could. But he also doesn’t want to be the one who ruins all the fun. 

Bebe’s gone into the kitchen, reemerging with the three cucumbers she’d had Harry purchase. “The game is simple,” she says, handing one to Harry, Greg, and Maya in turn. “You will take  _ these,” _ and she produces out of nowhere three condoms, tossing those as well (Harry fumbles his badly), “and you will get them onto your green vegetables without the use of your hands. Cucumbers between your knees, and on my count you can begin!”

Harry’s face is so hot he feels like maybe he could just faint. Can you faint from too much blood in your face? He rather hopes so. 

He tries his best to grip the cucumber so that it stands upright between his knees. Following what Greg and Maya are doing, he puts the condom on top of that. It smells like artificial grape and that sort of weirds him out. Who’s condom is this?

“On my count!” Bebe says, holding up her hand in the air with three fingers up. “Three… two… one!”

Just taking enough of a look to his right to see Maya going down on the cucumber using her teeth to get the condom rolling, he tries with his own. It goes down surprisingly easy, although he gags at the taste and weird texture in his mouth. Liam’s the one who’s picky about textures but Harry would support him on this one. 

_ Just get it over with as quickly as possible and then pretend it never happened, _ he thinks to himself. It does go fast, although he feels like it takes hours until the cucumber is hitting the back of his throat, grape taste and all.

Gagging a bit, he pulls off and lets the cucumber drop to the floor. Oh god, he has to go brush his teeth, like, right now.

“Oh my  _ god  _ Harry,” he hears, looking up to see Bebe looking at him in awe. Also… Liam looking impressed? And that’s when he realises that Maya and Greg are nowhere near done (and there seem to be  _ teeth marks _ in Greg’s).

“Uh,” says Harry. His head snaps to Louis, right next to him, feeling like he needs Louis to crack a joke or at least say something witty or  _ something,  _ but Louis is looking down at the cucumber on the floor and determinedly not at him. 

“I have to-” Harry says before he bolts for the kitchen. 

He’s not sure what he thinks he’s going to  _ do _ in the kitchen, but it’s like his brain’s short-circuited. Good god, he won the condom game and that’s probably about the first time he’s even  _ touched _ a condom. It’s not weird. Right? He just happens to be good at unrolling latex. With his teeth. Are condoms even latex? He doesn’t even  _ know _ what he just put in his mouth-

“Harry?” 

From where he’s wedged himself in the pantry (when did he get in here?) Harry sees Louis enter the kitchen after him. Oh god. Louis just saw Harry with what was basically a vegetable dick down his throat.

“Harry, are you alright?” Louis asks, following him into the pantry and crouching in front of him. “Was that too much? Bebe says that if it was she apologises and also Maya says to blame her.”

Harry shakes his head, and he feels tears gathering on his lashes. Oh god. Now he’s going to  _ cry _ about this. 

“No, that’s ridiculous,” he chokes out. “I’m ridiculous. I’m fine. This is stupid.”

“It’s  _ not _ stupid,” Louis says, and then he’s sitting on the floor (which is  _ disgusting _ and bracketing Harry’s legs with his own. “Don’t say that. Your feelings are your feelings and you’re allowed to have them.”

Harry leans forward until his head is against Louis’s shoulder. “Then why wouldn’t you look at me?” he asks. 

He immediately wishes he could have taken the question back.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I-” he says. “Because. Um.”

“You were- grossed out?” Harry guesses.

“No!” Louis says, and he’s got a hand in Harry’s hair now, which is good because it means that Harry doesn’t have to pick up his head to look at him. “The, um. The opposite. But please don’t make me talk about that.”

Harry’s conversation with Zayn rushes back to his mind (did it ever leave? Or was he ignoring it?). “Are you-” he starts and then starts again, “Would- I mean.” Ugh. He has to actually look up for this conversation. “Serious question,” he says, pushing back so that he can look Louis in this eye. “And then we can pretend I never asked this and you can get really drunk maybe so that you don’t remember.”

“Oh god,” says Louis. “Or not.”

“Do you— Could you ever-” Harry looks down, at Louis’s hand on his knee. “Is it okaythatIlikeyou?”

Louis looks shocked. “Uh,” he says. “Ah, I- yes?”

“Yes?” asks Harry, feeling hope bloom in his chest. 

“I mean you can like whoever you like,” Louis says, and Harry feels that hope crushed again.

He’s come too far, though. “But- but Zayn said-”

“Zayn?” Louis frowns. “What does Zayn have to do with this?”

“Zayn said that you like me too!” Harry squeaks. “He said you like me too and that it would all be okay because- because—” God, he’s such a  _ child. _ Harry’s always been the baby of this house and now he’s whining like the child he is. Hot tears slide down his cheeks in earnest.

“Oh, no-” Louis’s arms are around him again, and Harry’s face is pressed against his shoulder, soaking the white jumper he’s wearing. “No, Harry, I-” 

“You  _ don’t,” _ Harry wails. “And I’m so  _ stupid _ and I’m  _ sorry, I’m so sorry!” _

“Please don’t be sorry,” Louis says, and Harry can hear his voice breaking too. “Please, I don’t- I  _ do _ like you Harry, I do, I just, just—”

And he’s hugging Harry even tighter, so tight Harry feels like he can breathe and can’t breathe at the same time. 

“But not the  _ same-” _ Harry chokes out into his shoulder.

Louis shakes his head, resting against the crook of Harry’s neck. “Of course the same,” he says, and Harry’s shoulder is wet with tears that aren’t his own now. “But I can’t- we can’t-”

“What?” Harry gasps. “Why  _ can’t  _ we?” He pulls back, his eyes red and cheeks puffy. “What do you  _ mean?” _

This time its Louis who crumbles though, pulling back and looking down at their feet, tears falling onto Harry’s knee. “What if it goes  _ wrong?” _ he asks, in the most broken voice Harry’s ever heard. “I can’t- I couldn’t do it, Harry. Too much could go wrong.”

“It’s too  _ late _ for that,” Harry says, and he rubs his hands across his face, smearing the tracks of tears across his skin. “Louis,  _ please—  _ You  _ like _ me?”

Louis nods, blinking furiously and still not facing him.

“God—” Harry is too much of a mess for this, he wasn’t supposed to be the one who holds them together! He’s not the strong one! “Fuck,  _ Louis!” _ He grabs for Louis’s hand, squeezes it in his own. “That’s not how this works you can’t just- you can’t just put your heart in a box like that! I’m giving you my heart, Louis, whether you want it or not. Can you— can you give me yours back?”

Louis rubs at his eyes furiously, and when he looks up his face his blotchy and his eyes are red and god, Harry wants to wrap his arms around him and never,  _ never _ let go. 

“You’ve always had mine,” Louis croaks, and Harry’s heart breaks and mends. It floats and flies and beats anew. 

He leans forward and touches his forehead to Louis’s, and they’re both still shaking a little. “Please,” he says then. “You’ve got nothing to lose that you haven’t already given away. Let me take care of your heart, okay?”

“Just-” Louis looks up at him, with his blue, blue eyes, “Just be gentle with it,” he says. 

“Fuck,” Harry says. “Of course I will.”

And then, when they put their shaky arms around one another on that terribly gross floor with snotty faces and tear-stained shirts, and maybe just maybe begin something new— 

The power goes out, and everything goes black.


	22. December 22nd

When Liam James Payne first admitted to Zayn Javadd Malik that he wasn’t good with “physical things”, he went into the conversation with half a mind that Zayn was about to break up with him.

Zayn had not broken up with him. Zayn had chewed on the sleeve of his jumper and Liam had sat and fretted and eventually he’d gone and pulled Zayn’s sleeve out of his mouth and demanded that Zayn  _ please _ just  _ say something. _

And Zayn had said, “You really think I didn’t already know that?”

And then he had laughed. He had  _ laughed _ at Liam! And Liam wasn’t sure what to think about that, but it seemed… okay?

“Liam, we’ve been dating for almost three weeks now. If I hadn’t figured out yet that you have an issue with ‘physical things’, I wouldn’t be spending nearly enough time thinking about you.”

“Oh,” Liam had said. He didn’t think he was  _ that _ obvious. 

“Yeah,” Zayn had said. “You won’t wear certain fabrics, and as soon as you’re not in class anymore you unbutton your trousers because you hate the waistband. If it was socially acceptable to wear a dress, I think you would.”

And he had smiled and brought his sleeve back up to his mouth.

“I…” Liam struggled on. “But I don’t know when I  _ will _ be okay with physical things,” he said. “And I don’t want to, like, lead you on.”

“You’re not leading my on,” Zayn had rolled his eyes. “You’re just being you, and that’s okay. I know you like me. I like you. We are dating. That’s how it goes.”

He had made it sound so  _ simple. _ Liam had been floored. “But,” he had said.

“Nope,” Zayn had said. “No arguments. If you’re not actively trying to break up with me then you’re not getting rid of me.”

That was the day they had started the high fives. 

— 

Liam should never have agreed to anything.

He should never have agreed to anything, but he’s too nice for his own good. Or something.

Four months ago, Maya and Stormy had come to him asking if he would be willing to do the cake for their wedding. Just the ceremonial one, they had said. Sheet cakes can be pretty cheap, but the fancy and tall one that ends up in all the pictures are the ones that you have to pay out the nose for, and they were hoping to have as cheap a wedding as possible (in order to spend all the extra funds on a trip to Barbados for Christmas).

And Liam had agreed, because he does love his roommates, and his love language is acts of service according to that online quiz Harry made everyone in the house take, and making the cake for Maya’s wedding would be an honour.

But, now that it’s the day of the wedding, he’s regretting that choice. He should never agreed to this.

He’d baked the cake yesterday, thankfully. It’s been more than twelve hours since the power went out, and he doesn’t know anywhere in town that would have a working oven at this point. Of course, that means that he’s had to open the refrigerator to retrieve the cakes and ingredients for icing (which he now had to mix by hand,  _ hello carpal tunnel), _ and in order to save everything in the refrigerator from going bad now that he’d opened the door, he’d had to enlist Niall’s help in moving everything to the back porch, where it quickly became blanketed in a layer of white from the ever-falling snow.

(Also, side note, he’s going to have to have a talk about the refrigerator, because the packet of what was once gammon that he found at the bottom of the crisper drawer that  _ expired two years ago _ was about the worst thing he’s ever had to touch and that’s including the velvet suit his mum had once forced him into for a Christmas Eve service as a child).

So here he is, with three layers of cake that need to be shaped and iced, and he’s absolutely  _ freezing his bits off _ because the temperature in the house is only  _ marginally _ warmer than outside since hundreds of years ago when the house was being built they apparently didn’t anticipate that no one living here in the 21 st century would be able to successfully light a fire in the fireplace.

(Harry and Louis have been attempting this for what feels like hours, but they are  _ disgusting _ and have been “cuddling for warmth” to the point of Louis sitting in Harry’s lap with their bodies more or less entwined like two octopi reunited after being separated at birth).

They’re  _ gross _ and  _ disgusting _ and Liam is standing here in the kitchen with his quilt wrapped around his shoulders pathetically holding up his lighter to a stick of butter to melt it.

And Zayn hasn’t texted him back all morning, not that it matters because he was originally going to come over before the wedding to have Liam iron his suit but  _ that’s _ certainly not happening now. But  _ still _ it’d be nice to hear from him just to make sure he hasn’t frozen to death. Liam would appreciate that.

So. Liam should never have agreed to this. 

Everyone slept in the living room last night, since it was the warmest room in the house and more bodies equals more body heat. Liam, thankfully, had a couch all to himself (unlike those who slept on the floor, who all had to deal with Harry and Louis yelling  _ ‘ROOM OF BEDS’ _ and then rolling all over everyone), and most of them are still there now, with the exception of Maya who’s gone to get her hair ready.

Just as Liam’s about to give up and say that they’re just going to have a naked cake, Niall walks back into the room, dressed in four pairs of sweats and vest, his arms bare and pale. 

“Oi,” he says. “That’s a bit much. I mean, the hob does still work since it’s gas-powered.”

“The hob-” Liam looks over at the oven. “Oh my fuck,” he says. He goes over and turns the dial and it lights almost instantly. “Fuck, Niall, you’re my hero.”

“I know I am,” Niall says. “I’m also here to help. Just got a text from Maya asking if we could make it ombre blue.”

“Over my frozen dead body we will,” Liam says.

“I think it’s time for you to take five,” Niall says. “I’ll start on the icing. You go take a nap. Invite Zayn over and cuddle him for warmth. 

“I would if he would  _ text me back,” _ Liam says. “Actually, you’re right. I’m going to call him. I’ll be back.”

Calling him, unfortunately, yields no results. But Liam does take a ten minute break, sitting on the couch in the front room with all the free coats piled on top of himself as he watches Louis and Harry hold lighters under the meagre sticks they’ve collected from outside. No wonder there isn’t a fire going.

— 

**Baby Bebe:** _Evie’s mom is asking about her_ _  
_ **Baby Bebe:** _I’m freaking the fuck out_ _  
_ **Baby Bebe:** _Evie hasn’t even mentioned wanting her mom. We’re literally two days away._ _  
_ **Baby Bebe:** __We were planning on staying home so that Evie didn’t have to sit through a whole wedding but I’m taking her now. Hope you don’t mind, Maya, I need a barrier.

**Maya Pa-Jama:** _ No problem Babes _ _   
_ **Maya Pa-Jama:** _ Just got my hair did! Getting my nails to match. Love you all! Was a blast rooming with you! _

**Harry-bo:** _ :’) _ _   
_ **Harry-bo:** _ And whatever you need bebe, we’re here for u _

**Lou-is-blou:** _ HEY DID YOU GUYS KNOW HARRY AND I ARE DATING _ _   
_ **Lou-is-blou:** _ same though, if you need someone to fight Evie’s mum just lmk _

**Baby Bebe:** _ thanks guys _ _   
_ **Baby Bebe:** _ helo i ama cat _ _   
_ **Baby Bebe:** __ that was Evie

**GREGORYHELLO:** _ Dont lie bebe we kno it was u _

— 

A new disaster.

Oh god. 

Liam stands outside his car and stares in horror at the back seat. The church is  _ on campus, _ he was only driving for  _ ten minutes! _ Sure, he was blasting the heat because this was the first heat he’s felt all day, but only for ten minutes! This car barely works anyway! 

But even so. There the cake sits. Lopsided like an Alice in Wonderland cake as half of it drips onto the bottom of the cake safe he’d so carefully put it in. All that ombre stippling he and Niall had worked so hard on. Ruined in ten minutes.

Shit fuck shit shit fucking shit. 

He pulls out his phone and calls Zayn again. At this point he’s become legitimately worried, but he calls again anyway. When it goes to voicemail, he leaves one that just says “Help I’m in crisis mode everything is ruined please find me in the church kitchens and please don’t be dead”.

He can’t send a text on the group line. Maya can’t see this. Instead he just picks one person.

**Liam:** _ you’re good with odd things _

**Lou-is-blou:** _ Yes thank you for noticing. What can I help you with, my dear Leemo? _

**Liam:** _ I broke the cake please come to the kitchens _

**Lou-is-blou:** _ This is why you’re my favorite platonic roommate _ _   
_ **Lou-is-blou:** _ OMW _

Liam carries his sad dessert into the church through the back door (oh thank Christ this place still has electricity), following the signs and only getting a little lost before finding the kitchens (which is a deceptive name since it doesn’t seem to have an oven or dishwasher or anything truly useful) - and Louis is already there.

“Holy fuck,” Louis says and bursts out laughing.

“It’s not  _ funny,” _ Liam says. “It’s a  _ disaster!” _

“Of course it’s not,” Louis says. “It’s a memory. And Maya will look back on this and laugh and remember the good times.”

“Maya can _ not _ find out about this,” Liam begs. “You have to do something. I’m tired. I can’t find Zayn. He might be dead.”

“He’s not dead,” Louis assures him, frowning. “He’s out front smoking.”

“He’s  _ what,” _ Liam says. “I have to- I need to go find him. Can you brainstorm? I’ll be back in like. Two minutes.”

Louis waves him off. “Harry’s coming too,” he says. “I told him to bring supplies.”

“I don’t know what that means but I’ll be worried about it later,” Liam says, already heading out the swinging door. 

He makes it outside just in time to see Zayn stubbing out his cigarette. 

“Zayn,” he says, panting. “Zayn, what the  _ fuck. _ I thought you might be  _ dead.” _

Zayn looks at him and Liam can’t read his expression. He doesn’t have  _ time _ to read his expression. “Come on,” Liam says, grabbing his wrist. “I need you now. Whatever’s happening is going to have to wait until we’re no longer in cake jeopardy.”

And then he’s pulling Zayn back down the hall, and back to the kitchens, and there Louis and Harry are, making out and not at all paying attention to the cake.

“Guys,” Liam says, voice pained. “Guys.  _ Please.” _

“Oh hey,” Harry says, looking up. Then he stops and stares at Zayn for a moment. Liam looks over to see Zayn staring back. Has  _ everyone gone insane today.  _

“Louis,” Liam says. “Status. Please.”

“Oh yeah,” Louis says. “We stole some napkins from Maya’s reception supplies. We’re going to cover the bottom layer in blue origami flowers from the napkins. It’s perfect.”

“You’re going to-” Liam falters. “You’re going to cover a  _ wedding cake _ in  _ napkins.” _

“Better than loo roll, innit,” Louis says with a shrug.

“I’m going to die.” Liam looks over at Harry. Harry is still looking at Zayn. They seem deep in silent conversation. “What the  _ fuck _ are you two doing?” Liam asks, feeling near hysterics.

Harry finally meets his eye. “Liam,” he says. “Zayn needs to talk to you. Louis and I are going to take this stack of napkins-” (he grabs the blue napkins) “-and we are going to go fold them into beautiful flowers-” (he takes Louis’s hand) “-and we’ll be back once you’re all normal again.”

Harry more or less pulls his boyfriend out of the room and leaves Liam and Zayn there. 

Liam takes a deep breath. He feels overwhelmed by a number of things, but at the moment mostly because apparently something is wrong between himself and Zayn and he didn’t even know.

“Did I do something?” he asks.

Zayn is leaning against the bland white countertop and looking at his shoes. 

“Seriously, Zayn, if I did something you need to tell me, I can’t take you just ignoring me like this.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Zayn finally says. “I just- it was me. I did something.”

“Okay,” Liam says. “Well we can work on that too. Do you need help with something? Is it money? You can move in with us if you need to-”

“I failed,” Zayn says, cutting him off. “I failed university. I’m done.”

Liam stops. He digests that. Oh. “Well, I’m sure there are solutions,” he tries. “You can talk to your advisor, yeah? There’s gotta still be time, you’re a good student, I’ve seen you work-”

“No, you don’t get it,” Zayn says, and he just sounds tired. “I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I’m choosing not to go back. For my own health.”

“Oh…” says Liam. He frowns. “Why didn’t you say something? You must have been thinking this for a while, right? This can’t have been spur of the moment, you’re not that kind of guy…”

“Because,” Zayn says, and Liam feels shocked to see that his eyes are glassy, wet. “Because I knew it would be the end, and I wanted to have a little longer before that.”

“Well, I mean,” Liam feels lost. “Of course it’s the end. If you’re leaving school, then you can’t very well go back. But I don’t get what that has to do with  _ me-” _

“You said it yourself!” Zayn exclaims. “You said you’d never marry someone without a degree!”

Liam stares at him. What?  _ This _ is what’s gotten Zayn so scared? “You can’t be serious,” he gapes.

“Of course I am,” Zayn mumbles. He’s pulling at the sleeves of his suit. He’s been so careful, Liam realises. He’s been so careful not to stick any part of the suit he’s wearing in his mouth. Liam had spent days begging him to at least  _ try _ not to ruin his expensive suit, and Zayn’s doing such a good job, even-

“Zayn,” Liam says, and he takes a step forward but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next, so he stops again. Hug? High five? No clue. “Zayn, absolutely not. Fuck,  _ Zayn, _ the fact that you- that you think I would drop you now, just because—” he runs a hand through his hair. “You told me you knew me better than this. You  _ told me. _ You can’t think so little of me.”

Zayn doesn’t speak, just keeps picking at his sleeve.

“Zayn, you absolute- you  _ fool! _ You  _ nutter- _ you absolute fucking  _ goose-” _ Liam takes a step forward again and then he’s crowding in Zayn’s space. “If you’re not actively trying to break up with me then you’re not getting rid of me,” he says.

Zayn looks up, looks him in the eye. There’s tears on his cheeks now and if Liam was anyone else he’d probably be wiping them away or something equally romantic, but instead-

“Oh, here-” he reaches for the napkins before remembering that Harry took them. “Fuck- fine, here-” he takes the pocket square out of his own pocket and wipes Zayn’s cheeks. 

“You’re  _ not _ breaking up with me, right?” Liam asks, starting to feel nervous by Zayn’s silence. “I mean, there are easier ways to do it than dropping out of school, you could just  _ tell-” _

“No,” Zayn croaks. “I’m not- I promise I’m not.”

“Good,” Liam says. “And don’t think I missed that part about you wanting to marry me, but just so you know you can  _ not _ get me engaged at a wedding because that is  _ terribly _ cliche and I would never forgive you. But- oh jesus, Zayn, you  _ idiot.” _

“Are you going to be insulting me all evening?” Zayn asks, smiling with wet eyes.

“I probably am!” Liam shouts. “What the fuck! You had me  _ worried!  _ You should have- communication, Zayn! This is what we kept saying about Louis and Harry! I just-” he makes a frustrated noise. “You know what? You  _ know what? _ Hold still.”

He puts his hands on Zayn’s shoulders and leans forward. Zayn looks rather scared. He ignores this. “Don’t move,” Liam says. “Or I might, I dunno, bite you or something.”

He’s never kissed someone before, but he figures all the movies don’t make it look too difficult.

He comes in a bit too fast, it turns out, but he just brushes his lips against Zayn (and bonks noses a little) before going back. 

“There,” he says. “Now you  _ can’t  _ break up with me.”

Zayn looks shocked. His cheeks seem to be turning pink, along with his ears.

“Wow,” says Zayn.

“You’re not getting a second one for at least a week,” Liam says. “I have to work up to that.”

“That’s fine,” Zayn says weakly.

Then, two things happen.

Harry and Louis burst back in, shouting things about  _ it’s about time _ and  _ flowers! _

And the power goes out, throwing the room into darkness. 

— 

Maya’s dress looks beautiful. Long and flowing and glittering in the candlelight.

Everyone in the audience who can be trusted with one holds a candle. They line the windowsills and cast warm glows on the snow that continues to fall, piling up on the pavement that was swept only hours earlier.

Stormzy stands at the altar, his black suit and blue tie the picture of elegance. His eyes shine (in the candlelight) as Maya walks up to him.

It’s really cold and she’s definitely freezing in that sleeveless dress, but the pictures will look  _ great. _

Liam sits at the end of the row, Zayn next to him. Harry and Louis are next, with their ankles intertwined, and then Greg, Niall, Bebe, and Evie.

(Evie has dressed herself. She’s wearing a pink tutu, purple coat with cat ears on it, and glittery shoes that light up when she bangs them together).

(She’s been banging them together nonstop since she sat down).

Behind the altar, behind Maya and Stormzy, hangs the painting Zayn spent so long in. It could practically be another window, depicting the same snowy landscape that awaits them outside. It’s beautiful and Liam leans over just briefly enough to touch their shoulders together. 

Maya and Stormzy say  _ “I do.” _ They kiss. There are cheers. They join hands and face the audience, and Maya says, “It’s too  _ fucking cold,  _ let’s dance before we freeze!”


	23. December 23rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, technically as of last night, but AS OF NOW, DEAR READERS, this has become my longest ever fic. How did we get to this point? How has it only been a few weeks and yet I've managed to accomplish more than I ever could during NaNoWriMo??
> 
> Thank you, dear readers, and Happy Louis Eve to all!

When Louis William Tomlinson was eight years old, and Harry Edward Styles was five, Louis had one of the worst Christmasses of his life.

That had been the year that Louis’s mum had bought a bird for her mother for Christmas. They’d kept it in the kitchen, a beautiful little green parakeet that Louis had talked to for hours because he had gotten parakeets and parrots confused. 

They had gotten home late from the Christmas Eve service, and Jay had told Louis he was allowed to watch  _ one _ VHS tape of  _ Arthur  _ while she gave Lottie her bath. 

Jay had gone into their kitchen to put the kettle on, planning to gift both the kids with tiny amounts of hot chocolate as a treat before bed, but that’s when she’d come across the parakeet. He was breathing, she could tell, but he was also laying on the floor of the cage, in a way she would have never thought normal of a bird to do. 

_ Oh no, _ Jay had thought.  _ I’ve not even given it to my mum yet and already I’ve about killed it. _

She went to look up the number of the local emergency vet, but even as she was doing so, something was dinging in the back of her mind - a distant memory, of her father working at the Selby coalfield when she was young, and telling her stories about how miners used to bring canaries into the mines, because they were the first to detect poisons in the air. 

Probably this wasn’t at all related. Probably she just had a sick bird. But she also had two young children, and a good head on her shoulders.

So she went to check the basement, down where the furnace was located, and as soon as she did so she saw the burner light - a bright yellow instead of the blue that it was supposed to be. 

She knew the signs.

Hurrying up the stairs, she thought with horror about how she had been about to turn the hob on for tea - in a house that was looking like it had a carbon monoxide leak.

“Come on, Louis, Lottie,” she called, trying not to sound worried as she grabbed the cage of the parakeet. “We’re going for a drive, come, get your shoes back on!”

“Mum?” Louis had asked, shuffling into the front hallway where she was grabbing her purse, not bothering to change her house shoes for real ones.

“Come on, love,” she had said, forced cheerfulness in her voice. “We’re going to go make a surprise visit over at Harry’s. A nice Christmas Eve surprise, yeah?”

She’d bundled them both into the car, grabbed a quilt and pillow for each of them, and set off for Anne’s. She was hoping Anne was even  _ home, _ but she hadn’t wanted to stay in the house long enough to phone and ask.

Louis began complaining of feeling sick before the end of the block.

He’d vomited all over his trousers before they were out of the neighborhood. 

“Oh love,” Jay had said, torn between stopping and comforting her son and getting him somewhere quickly where he could be cleaned up. Lottie also seemed to feel unwell, but she didn’t seem to have inhaled as much, and was at least able to keep down her dinner. 

Jay had left them in the car only briefly when she’d arrived at Anne’s, just long enough to go up to the door and say, “Surprise! Can I use your phone? My children have carbon monoxide poisoning,” before she was passed by Anne, who went straight for her car to help her carry in her children (and her bird). 

Louis had spent the next hour on the couch, wrapped in his spiderman quilt, with a bucket in his lap for getting sick into, as Harry (up past his bedtime) sat on the other end of the couch, eyes wide in fear but refusing all of Anne’s attempts to take him to bed because he  _ had to make sure Louis was alright. _

Jay had been right, and the leak had been a bad one. A repairman had come out that night to fix it, but with two young children she was advised to not bring them home for twenty four hours. 

Thus, Jay had apologised and apologised again as Anne reassured and reassured and reassured that it was  _ fine, _ and that of  _ course  _ she must stay, and anyway she’d break Harry’s heart if she took Louis home now anyway. 

So they hadn’t opened presents until boxing day that year, but Jay spent every moment thanking the lord that she even had a house and children to return to. And such a good friend that insisted she stay for Christmas.

— 

Louis is supposed to go home for Christmas today.

Everyone in the house is, actually. They’d all made plans to wait until the end of Maya’s wedding before heading home. 

That being said, all plans are currently being thrown out the window.

“They’re calling it the worst storm since 1962,” Greg says, reading off of his phone.

“No one’s supposed to be on the roads,” Harry says, staring in disbelief at his own phone. “All train services in the north are down.”

“They keep saying  _ Siberian winds, _ like it’s not the  _ snow _ that’s the problem,” Niall says. 

Louis snuggles further into the nest of blankets he and Harry have made. Greg and Niall took it upon themselves this morning to build a  _ real _ fire in the fireplace, and that’s what’s been sustaining them all. Six roommates plus Evie, all sitting around in the front room with the curtains open to let in light but but also huddled up near the fire to keep the draught coming in under the door at bay. 

It’s snowed. It’s snowed and snowed and  _ snowed, _ for two days now, late last night turning into an absolute storm and today settling into only a light dusting. It’s ridiculously bright outside, even with the sun partially hidden behind the clouds, the snow is reflecting every bit of sunlight there is.

It’s mostly undisturbed, too. So thick on the ground that they’d have to shovel the roads themselves to even get into their cars, much less get them moving. Louis’s received the call from his mum already, saying she can’t drive down to get him today, the roads just aren’t drive-able. 

The board games they’ve played so far include;  _ Catan, The Game of Life, Harry Potter Clue, Harry Potter Mystery at Hogwarts, Harry Potter Trivia Year 1, Harry Potter Quidditch the Game,  _ and  _ Mousetrap. _

In almost every game they’ve let Evie think she’s won (except Catan, because she took one look at Bebe’s cards and proclaimed that it was  _ boring _ and  _ for boys). _

“I think we might need to start considering that we’re going to be here a while,” Liam says as Evie carries over another game from the pile  _ (Harry Potter Trivia Year 3) _ .

(Greg has a collection of Harry Potter things. They just never thought they’d have to actually  _ play _ any of them). 

“Like, multiple days,” Liam says. 

“I’m supposed to be catching a plane today,” Niall says sadly. “My flight’s already been cancelled.”

Louis sighs and leans against Harry, who reaches an arm around his back. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be stuck if he can’t go home for Christmas, but also he was really rather looking forward to going home for Christmas. 

“It’s actually sort of a godsend for us,” Bebe says, indicating Evie (who is taking the cards out of the trivia box and “shuffling” them by throwing them about). “Two more days and we’re free, this is the perfect excuse not to come home yet.”

“All of our cold food is on the back porch still,” Liam points out. “It’s gotta be under about two feet of snow at this point.”

“At least the hob still works,” Greg points out. “Ramen for everyone.”

They all look up in tandem when a knock sounds at the door. Louis stays sitting because he  _ will not be moved _ , he is bundled up with Harry and that’s just how it should be. Everyone else seems equally dubious, but when the knock sounds again, Niall rolls his eyes and stands. “You all are useless,” he says.

He pulls open the door and Louis cranes his neck to see - there, standing on the porch with snow in his hair and snow up to almost his knees - 

Is Zayn, with Thumbs in his arms.

“It’s cold in my flat,” Zayn says.

_ “Thumbs!” _ Harry shouts, and Louis finds himself being thrown to the side as Harry clambers up and over to the door to take the poor, cold-looking cat.

“It’s cold here too,” Liam says. “Come inside, we can all be cold together.”

Louis doubts anyone could pry Thumbs out of Harry’s hands at this point. It’s a good thing that he picked up a box of allergy pills when he was out shopping for Christmas presents. 

He gets up to go locate the box, and hope that this will be enough to keep him from dying since he plans on cuddling Harry the rest of the day, and Harry’s probably not planning on letting Thumbs go back outside for anything.

He doesn’t know what Christmas is going to be like at this point, but his birthday is tomorrow and he’s already gotten the presents he couldn’t have dreamed of asking for - Harry - so he’s already happy with whatever comes at this point.


	24. December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Louismas to all! We've just hit 100% on the charity drive and yes I _am_ teary! And now I have t go drop off a library book because the library is CLOSED but I'm about to go out of town and if I don't return it now i WILL be sent to the collections agency which is VERY rude
> 
> (it's very rude because I work at this library)
> 
> (Should I not get some sort of pass for this)
> 
> (We, as librarians, are a cruel species)

Zayn Javadd Malik once turned in a pocket-sized oil painting of Liam James Payne for an class assignment. 

He had been really proud of it, had loved working with the tiny brushes, almost doing a stippling sort of style to get the ghost of details into it. He had shown it to Liam just before turning it in, and Liam had looked both flattered and horrified. Zayn had spent a good thirty seconds thinking that he had somehow offended Liam, before Liam finally managed to say that Zayn shouldn’t be wasting paints on something ridiculous like  _ Liam, _ he should be painting, like, the queen or flowers or something.

Zayn had been delighted. He had smiled very wide and then chewed on his sleeve. Liam was  _ embarrassed. _ He was  _ self conscious. _ This was hilarious and wonderful and Zayn told himself that he would continue to paint Liam all the time, whenever the desire struck him. 

That being said, it was several months later when Liam had asked Zayn to go upstairs into his room and grab an extra jumper out of the closet, when it had occurred to Zayn just how much of a sap Liam was.

Liam spoke all the time about how much he hated tradition (although he spoke of it even more around Christmas time). He didn’t seem to be a fan of anniversaries or even birthdays, and the things he kept around were so minimal that Zayn just figured Liam’s mind didn’t work that way.

Which was why Zayn was genuinely surprised when he entered Liam’s room (the one he shared with Bebe and Maya), only to find the corkboard that hung above Liam’s bed to be absolutely overfilled with Zayn’s sketches.

They were done on scrap paper and napkins, on anything that Zayn had had nearby at the moment. He recognized them all; the one of the cat eating grapes like kitty Dionysus, the dinosaur driving a tiny Coupe, the drawing of Harry as a superhero, the flowers he’d drawn eyes into.. Pretty much every drawing he had given Liam in the moment and then expected that Liam recycled (or composted) them as soon as he’d left. 

There they all were, one of the first things Liam was sure to see in the morning and the last before he went to sleep. 

That had been when Zayn had started to question just how much of a secret sap Liam was.

— 

The living room is starting to smell. 

Seven adults and one child all living and sleeping in the same place for multiple days with a fire kept blazing through sheer force of will (and the sacrifice of several tree stumps out back thanks to an axe Liam found in the basement). It’s the sleeping and the waking and the living and the sweating of eight human beings  _ plus _ the constant burning candles - every candle in the house - in the hopes of both warming them and making the air a little bit less sour smelling.

The candles don’t really help with the smell, they sort of just mix in and make it worse. Zayn’s not going to be the one to raise that objection, though.

Supposedly, some main roads have started to be ploughed. The BBC still recommends that people stay inside except in absolutely necessary situations, and pretty much everyone’s family has contacted to ask that they don’t travel home yet, safety being priority.

Zayn’s facetimed with his parents and sisters and plans to do so again tomorrow if he’s still here. He feels sad about likely missing family time, but there’s something to be said for experiencing life at 404 E. Redwood as everyone slowly goes stir crazy.

There are eleven snowmen in their front garden. One of them has two heads. 

A makeshift litter box has been made for Thumbs out of a sandbag found in the basement that was definitely holding down something important (an eldritch horror perhaps) but that now is spilled over much of the floor. She’s dined like a queen on kippers and salmon since “moving in” (which - Liam insists she’s going back out again as soon as it’s above freezing outside. Zayn knows better). 

The pantry has been ransacked. Evie ate a whole bag of marshmallows when no one was looking.

Greg had a meltdown when his phone died because he’s the only person in the house who apparently doesn’t have a backup battery. Evie had told him to “stop being a little boy” about it.

Niall has made a fort by draping all of his blankets over the coffee table, and crawling underneath and going to sleep. He keeps saying it’s like the Japanese “kontatsu”, and whenever Harry starts to argue with him that the Japanese tables with blankets draped from them and heating devices underneath are called “kotatsu” not “kontatsu,” Niall just says that he’s jealous and then crawls under his table fort and goes to sleep.

Zayn has witnessed so many arguments and he’s only been here a day. This place is wild and overwhelming and sure, it makes sense since they’re all stuck in basically two rooms together, but he also knows from experience that this is sort of always what it’s like here. 

And he’s going to be moving in as soon as his lease is up.

It’s a ridiculous decision, one made out of love for Liam and also because rent is  _ incredibly  _ cheap with this many people. It’ll be tough adjusting to a house with so many roommates after living on his own for the last few years, but they’ve already discussed new living arrangements, and it’s been decided that he’s going to share the tiny attic room with Liam - the one that has a boarded up raccoon hole in the corner, although no one seems overly concerned about that now.

Harry and Louis are going to be taking the lower bedroom, and Greg, Niall and Bebe will be sharing the bigger attic room. Zayn feels sort of bad that they seem to have created a sort of “singles commune”, but as Liam points out, no one is going to want to share a room with Louis or Harry now that they’ve started  _ actually _ dating. It just sounds like a poor decision. 

Even now, as Harry once again tries to make his case to Niall, they’re wrapped up in each other on the couch, Louis absentmindedly playing with Harry’s curls as Harry fiddles with a rubix cube that Louis had produced from his room. Louis has produced a shocking number of toys from his room, for Harry and Evie respectively, and Zayn is starting to add “hoarder” to the list of adjectives assigned to Louis in his mind. 

“Alright, everyone,” Liam calls as he enters the living room. “Birthday cake! Hands up if you want birthday cake!”

Zayn watches as Louis looks up, surprised. “Birthday cake?” he asks. “You made me birthday cake?”

“I’m not spoiling the surprise,” Liam says as everyone in the room puts their hands up. “Greg, you’re not getting two pieces, put one of those hands down.” He leaves, walking back into the kitchen, and then reappears moments later with a stack of plates in one hand and a platter with half of a very tall blue cake in the other.

“Is that Maya’s wedding cake?” asks Bebe. “Aren’t you supposed to, like, save it and eat it on your first anniversary?”

Liam puts down the cake and plates on top of the blankets on the coffee table. “I won’t tell if you wont,” he says. “We had a power outage. Lost all the food. Oh well. Plus,” and he turns the cake so that the blue side is facing Louis, “this clearly says Louis on it. It’s clearly a birthday cake.”

“I can’t believe she thought the flowers were pre-planned,” Harry giggles. “She even complimented us on the colour matching!”

“And that secret never leaves this room,” Niall’s voice rings out from under the table.

“Oh, if we’re doing cake then I’ve got presents!” Harry says, disentangling himself from Louis. “Birthday presents!”

“I do too,” Liam says, “Just a small one.”

“You’re making the rest of us look bad,” Greg whines. “I didn’t even think I was going to see Louis again until January! I was going to hit the after-Christmas specials!”

“I’ll take cash as well,” Louis says with a grin. 

“You’ll take what you get and be happy about it,” Bebe says. “Your present from me is one free pass to steal my food from the pantry.”

_ “Yess!” _ Louis pumps his fist. “Best present so far!”

Zayn, who has been continually working with his acrylics spread out across the couch in the front room, moves his canvas a little closer to his chest. He’s got five left to go, and so far the only person who has noticed what he’s been painting has been Liam. He’s only got a few more hours until the sun sets and paintings by candlelight do  _ not _ turn out well, no matter what art history professors try to tell you. 

Just a few more hours of sunlight to get all his Christmas gifts ready for his new roommates. Louis’s birthday is a welcome distraction so that he can really get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more day! We're almost there, friends! Don't forget to go to youtube and listen to [Perfect Christmas Single by Scott Mills and his Pigs and Blankets!](https://youtu.be/aIFdJsLRkRM)


	25. December 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Especially Good Tuesday!
> 
> I hope you all are having a good time celebrating, eating delicious food and opening shiny packages. But if you're not, that's okay too! Life goes on, and I wish you well no matter what's going on in your world right now. 
> 
> I'm watching my cats go buck-fucking-wild over brand new catnip toys, and I've brought one of my (many) roommates home for my family Christmas this year, because her own family is across on the other side of the country right now. I've already opened the liqueur from my stocking... and once I finish this I'll have breakfast, I assume. 
> 
> You're all the most wonderful readers, and it's been a pleasure taking this journey with you. I wish you all the best, and hope to see you again. Merry Christmas, here's to many more <3

Niall James Horan came to the conclusion that he was pan when he was sixteen, and Ted McDougal bought him pick ‘n mix before the footie match where he sprained his ankle and spent half the game sitting on the bench feeling sorry for himself and wondering if it was normal to like the way guys’ legs looked in shorts. 

Still, since starting university he’s only had two relationships, both with women. It’s also been a long time since he’s seen anyone who really piques his interest. He had spent a long time hoping someone would come along and he would immediately fall in love and they would fall in love with him and he wouldn’t have to do this whole  _ dating  _ thing anymore, because after a very long relationship with a girl who was much more in love with him than he was with her, he was feeling very tired of it all. 

_ Especially _ since he didn’t think he wanted kids. While he hesitated to say that he would one hundred percent never be interested, he found that everyone’s romantic ideals seemed to end in having children, like that was the pinnacle of it all. And that was wonderful for them, but it left him feeling like maybe there was something wrong with him. 

When Maya had found him and asked if he wanted to move in with them (and, Christ, thank god Niall wasn’t a serial killer, shouldn’t Maya ask for references or something?), Niall had almost immediately felt at ease. He had mentioned being pan right off the bat that night, because he hadn’t wanted to reveal it later and end up with someone having a problem with it, but that clearly wasn’t going to be an issue with this group. They welcomed him into the fold immediately, and bared their hearts to him just as readily.

He didn’t mention the part about not wanting to have kids, but considering he wasn’t planning on marrying any of them, it didn’t seem like a particular issue. After all, the thing about not wanting kids doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want  _ other _ people to have kids.

It was all fine. Sure, his love life was dead, but so what? It’s not like he was dwelling on it. A lot. He definitely wasn’t thinking about it on an almost daily basis, pining for the sort of love he read about in books and fanfictions online, and saw in the eyes of his roommates as they slowly but surely coupled up. He could be the single one. Some people are called to that sort of life. Maybe he was one of those people.

Even in his head it had begun to sound like a broken record. He was  _ fine. _

— 

Niall feels  _ suffocatingly _ hot.

He groans, trying to kick off his blanket and covers - he’s  _ sweating  _ and it’s  _ winter. _

As he lays there, having unsuccessfully attempted to kick off his blankets, he wakes up a bit more. Wait. He’s  _ sweating. _ Also it’s  _ bright _ in here.

Sitting up, he blurrily takes in the scene around him - Liam asleep on one couch, Bebe and Evie on the other, blankets and pillows covering all of the floor space in between where he, Greg, Liam, and HarryandLouis have been sleeping in  _ very _ close quarters.

It’s bright in here.

The lights are on.

“Power,” Niall says. “We’ve got the power back!”

Liam rolls over to face the back of the couch. No one wakes up. 

“Fine, be that way,” Niall mutters. He gets up with a groan, walks over to the wall to flip the lightswitch off, shuffles back to the floor and his blankets, and goes back to sleep.

— 

_ “The city estimates that seventy percent of roads are safe to drive on at this point. Now don’t go rushing out to your cars just yet, because residential streets are still the hardest hit, so maybe take the morning off. It is Christmas after all-” _

Niall switches to a different radio station - one playing  _ actual _ Christmas music, since it  _ is _ Christmas morning, after all.

He’s put himself in charge of making a big breakfast fry up for anyone who wants some, scrounging ingredients from the back porch before they’re all taken by raccoons (the takeaway boxes were dragged off long ago). 

While Harry and Louis are still asleep in the middle of the living room floor, life has emerged in the rest of the room. Bebe told Evie that she’s not allowed to open presents until  _ after _ breakfast, which means Evie has been pacing around the kitchen ever since Niall offered to make it, continually asking him if it’s done yet.

“I’ve fried one egg,” Niall tells her. 

“That means you’re done, right?”

“It does if it’s an ostrich egg,” Niall looks down at her. “Will you eat an ostrich egg?”

“Ew no,” Evie says, then after a second, “Are you done  _ now?” _

Liam and Zayn disappeared upstairs whispering secretively about who-knows-what, and Greg, for once not being the last one awake, is sitting on the kitchen stool at the counter acting like he’s helping Niall, while in reality just stealing the finished strips of bacon.

“Stop that,” Niall says, brandishing his spatula at Greg as Greg makes another go at the sausage. “We have children to feed in this house!”

“We’ve got one child and she’s got a pretty small tummy I believe,” Greg says. 

“We’ve got three children, two of them are still asleep in the living room,” Niall says, motioning to Harry and Louis wrapped around each other under the blankets that have been piled on top of them to leave a cleared walkway in the room. 

“Well those two children should wake up soon if they don’t want to miss breakfast,” Greg says. He’s been checking his phone for the last few minutes, and as he types something up on it he says, “Actually can you make room for one more for brekkie? I have a friend down the street who still doesn’t have power and he wants to know if he can come over.”

Niall shrugs. “It’s not my food I’m cooking,” he says. “I actually have no idea who’s eggs these were.”

“Probably Maya’s,” Greg says. “She owned a lot of food. Quite selfish of her, really.”

“You could just  _ buy _ food,” Niall points out. “You could be selfish too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Greg says. “Okay, he says he’s coming over. You remember Shawn, right?”

“Shawn from the Christmas party? Shawn who helped us nail a raccoon into the wall?”

“Yeah, that bloke.”

Ah yes. Niall remembers Shawn. 

“I’ll put some more bacon on,” he says. “And get your grubby little fingers away from those eggs.”

— 

Niall remembers Shawn, and when he opens the door to let Shawn in he realises that he remembers the way Shawn smells too. Like a lumberjack, he thinks, if lumberjacks had good personal hygiene and access to a perfume labeled  _ Eu de lumbare jacque _ . 

“Hi,” Shawn says, tapping his boots against the side of the door to get the snow off. “Hope Greg didn’t invite me over without telling any of you guys, I just saw that this side of the street had power and thought I’d try my luck.”

“Greg told exactly one of us, but as I’m the one making breakfast I’d say I’m the only one that matters,” Niall says. He leads Shawn back to the kitchen, where piles of eggs, bacon and toast now sit. “Help yourself, guests first and Greg James-es last because he’s eaten so much already.”

Evie is already ploughing through her meal, as much as Bebe tries to dissuade her from putting more food in her mouth than should possibly be able to fit there. Greg looks sulky but he’s also eating toast so Niall doesn’t feel too bad for him. 

“So you all got stuck here together?” Shawn asks. “That’s pretty neat, seems like a lot more fun than having spent the last few days in a tiny little quiet and cold flat like I have.”

“Oh yeah,” says Niall. “I bet your place smell a lot better than ours does by now though.”

Shawn coughs into his drink. “It- well—”

“Don’t worry,” Bebe says. “We all know how bad it smells in here. That’s just the smell of survival.”

“Yeah, that’s what we call that,” Niall says. “Sweat and survival.”

Harry and Louis are finally beginning to wake up, with the conversation going on around them.

“I smell sweat, survival and bacon,” Louis mumbles, his eyes not even open yet.

“Go grab yourself some survival bacon before Greg finishes it,” Niall says. That certainly gets Harry and Louis to wake up quite a bit faster. 

“I’m done!” Evie shouts, pushing her plate back on the coffee table. “We get presents now, right?”

“I think Zayn also has presents that he wants to give to everyone,” Bebe says and Evie groans, slumping onto the floor. “So you can bring them over from under the trees, okay? And then we’ll see. But stack them all over here first.”

Evie gets up and goes running for the trees and the packages that Bebe had put under them this morning, unloaded from where they’d been in her trunk, ready to go to her parents house and get opened there. Niall wonders how many years Evie’s only presents have been from Bebe and her parents. She definitely never went wanting, if the number of packages Bebe brought in this year is any indication.

As Evie runs back and forth, taking over one present at a time, Shawn leans over. “Cute kid,” he says. 

“Yeah,” agrees Niall, realising how weird this must look to someone who hasn’t been living with a five year old in their house for the last month. “She’s Bebe’s.”

“Not yours?”

Niall snorts and looks over at him. “Do I look like I have a kid?” he asks, and then gestures to himself. “With this figure?”

Shawn laughs. “I was just wondering!” he says. “She’s definitely not anyone else’s in this house, unless someone adopted  _ very _ young.”

“Nah,” Niall agrees. “Just Bebe’s. Long story.”

“That’s cool,” Shawn says, pausing to eat a piece of bacon. “I couldn’t do that. Honestly not really thinking kids are for me to start with.”

Niall turns and looks at him. “Really?” he asks. That can’t be true. Shawn is too… beautiful? Beautiful people want kids. To pass on their good looks. 

Shawn just shrugs though. “I mean, they’re great,” he says. “I’ve just never wanted them, you know? Some people don’t. No big deal.” 

He sounds like someone who’s gotten a lot of shit for it. Niall feels hope blossom in his chest, a hope that he hadn’t realised resided there. Shawn is cute, and that night with the raccoon he had been friendly, and funny, and not scared away by raccoons, so… 

Niall’s perfect guy, basically?

“I know what you mean,” he says, trying to play it cool. “Kids are great for other people, but I’ve never felt that desire, and I don’t think you should have kids just because you feel like you’re supposed to or something.”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, and he smiles. “You get it.”

“What’s that about kids?” Harry aks, walking into the room from the kitchen with a plate piled high. “Louis and I want kids. We discussed it. It’s mutual.”

“Shush, you losers will be married by this time next year,” Niall says.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to be married before Liam and Zayn,” Harry says as Louis walks in behind him, and looks momentarily very concerned at their topic of conversation.

“I don’t think it’ll be that long for them either, but you do you,” Niall says. 

“Are we planning our futures? Louis asks, settling down on the floor besides Harry. “We want three kids and a dog.”

“And Thumbs.”

“Yeah, I mean, she’s a given.”

“Thumbs?” Shawn whispers to Niall.

“She’s a cat,” Niall whispers back. “You’ll understand when you see her.”

(Last he saw, Thumbs was making herself right at home in a pile of dirty clothes in the room of requirement where everyone’s dressers are located). 

— 

Bebe’s let Evie open one of her gifts at this point, Niall hears footsteps from above as Liam and Zayn finally return.

“So Zayn’s got a surprise for everyone,” Liam says, sounding very proud of his boyfriend as they enter the living room.

“It’s not a big thing,” Zayn mumbles, looking very embarrassed.

“It’s definitely a big thing and you’ll all love them, because you’re all saps for holiday traditions and sh- stuff.” 

“It’s not even a Christmas tradition thing, Liam’s just being Liam,” Zayn says. He’s got a stack of wrapped presents in his hands that he goes around and hands to everyone. “It’s just - it’s not a big thing, don’t expect a nice fancy gift or anything.”

“Can we open it?” Harry asks, looking impatient already.

Zayn shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “I’m going to get some breakfast.”

Liam grabs his arm to keep him from leaving the room, as everyone (sans Evie and Shawn) tear into their packages.

Niall unwraps his to find a painting on a small canvas - he recognizes it immediately as a picture of himself, a head and shoulders portrait, against a dark background. It looks like it’s done in acrylics, and might not even be quite dry yet, At the bottom, in gold lettering and a script that looks suspiciously like Liam’s, it says

_ Niall James Horan _ _   
_ _ 2011 -  _

He looks up. “You know I wasn’t born in 2011, right?” he asks. 

Zayn makes a face. “It’s dumb,” he says.

“No it’s  _ not,” _ Liam interrupts him. “They’re house portraits, like the headmasters at hogwarts. The numbers are for the years you live here, but since we’re all still here we haven’t put end dates on them yet.”

Niall glances around at everyone else’s portraits - they’re all beautiful, done in the same style and with their names at the bottom.

“Can I get my name shortened?” asks Greg. “How did you even find out my full name…?”

“Stole your driver’s license,” Liam says. 

Looking back down at his portrait, Niall is surprised to find that he’s blinking tears back in his eyes. “You two have one too, don’t you?” he asks, looking up at Liam and Zayn. 

“I do,” Liam says. “I’m still working on getting Zayn to make one for himself.”

“You need one,” Niall says. “We can hang them up along the stairs, like real portraits in an old house.” He rubs at his eyes, he’s not even sure why he’s crying, but when he looks down he sees that Harry is too, so at least that’s nice.

Niall feels a hand on his back and he looks over at Shawn, who makes a motion as if to pull away, but Niall leans into it, and he doesn’t. It’s nice. It’s new and it’s nice and it’s Christmas and Niall is overwhelmed because damn if he isn’t supposed to be in Mullingar right now.

“Oh,” says Bebe. “I just got the text from my dad. As of today the ninety days is over, we’re going to court as soon as they can book an appointment.”

There’s a general cheer among everyone sitting around the room, between blankets and pillows and portraits and wrapping paper from Evie’s presents. Niall looks at Evie, who is too young to understand the significance of it all, and at Bebe, who looks like she’s definitely crying over it, and at Greg who’s instagramming his portrait, and at Louis and Harry, who haven’t let go of each other’s hands in days, and Liam and Zayn, standing in the doorway like a couple of proud parents, and over at Shawn, who is… new, but maybe in a good way. 

And he thinks that this is one of those Christmas seasons that he’ll remember in later years and think, what the fuck. What the fuck was that. That was like a fever dream but it was real.

And he smiles at Shawn and wonders if this is the start of something good.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic means a lot to me and if you have it in you to give it a kudos I'll give you my heart, and if you comment I may add my soul into the mix as well. The fic post is [here](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/180700602349/forget-the-silent-nights-ladylondonderry), give it a reblog if that's your style!


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